


Raptor Hunters

by StFrancisdeSales



Category: Jurassic World (2015), Supernatural
Genre: Animal Attack, Injury, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, No shipping, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StFrancisdeSales/pseuds/StFrancisdeSales
Summary: Months after the events of Jurassic World, Owen Grady returns to a deserted Isla Nublar to live among his raptor squad. His idyllic life is hampered by an entity, possibly supernatural in nature.The brothers Winchester make their way to an island they have only read about in newspapers. Not only will they have to deal with dinosaurs as neighbors, during the hunt, but a malevolent spirit of far more power than they've ever faced before.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've blatantly ignored the alleged "death" of three of the raptor squad during the canon events of Jurassic World. All four of them survived the battle with the Indominus Rex, in this version. My babies will run free over Isla Nublar forever.
> 
> Also, # indicates a break in the page.

Ring.

"Sammy..."

Ring.

"Sammy...?"

Ring.

"Sammy! Ow..."

Lying face-down on a motel room bed, Dean Winchester moved one hand to his face, deeply regretting raising his voice. The phone rang again and he cursed everything: his hangover, the morning light lancing through the thin motel curtains and directly into his stinging retinas, the lack of someone picking up the  damn phone !

The door to the motel room rattled and Dean came instantly awake, still battling a headache, but alert and ready. His hand shot under his pillow almost before he realized it.

A panting and slightly sticky Sam opened the door, just returning from his morning run, only to find the muzzle of a 9mm in his face.

"Woah," he said, freezing and glancing with concern at his disheveled brother. "Relax, dude. It's me."

Without answering, satisfied there was no threat, Dean turned and snatched up the phone that was now on its 7th ring. Everyone gave up at some point.

"Yeah?" he grunted into the mouthpiece.

"Oh hi, uh John?"

Dean hesitated before answering and the silence caused Sam, who had begun to strip off his exercise clothes, to pause and glance over with concern, poised at any moment to look away again. The elder Winchester was not a fan of being watched or worried over.

"No," Dean said, eventually. "No, he can't make it to the phone. Can I help?"

"Oh uh, sorry son, but I really need to speak to John on this one," said the unknown voice. "It's about some business we did together and I-"

"Cut the crap," Dean said, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and leaning forward, head down. "If you've got a job, just spit it out. I'm John's son and I can handle it for you."

"Oh, Dean is it?" asked the voice, sounding perky and condescending now. "Well, that's real nice of you but if it's all the same I'd rather John take care of it. You understand.”

"Well, that's gonna be a real bitch because he's dead," stated Dean, his voice flat.

Sam had finished stripping and wrapped a towel around himself, preparing to shower. He knew if he stuck around eavesdropping that Dean would have the perfect excuse to tear a strip off of him. Sighing inaudibly, he traipsed to the tiny bathroom and started the shower, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, well I'm real sorry to hear that," the voice continued, somewhat taken aback. "But if I've got you, I guess that's the next best thing, right?"

"Sure," Dean said, still in a monotone, fighting for patience. "So what's the deal? Vengeful spirit? Werewolf? What?"

"To tell you the truth, Dean," said the voice, after the briefest of pauses, “I don't know what in the hell it is."

When Sam exited the shower ten minutes later, fully clothed, slightly damp, but refreshed, he found Dean packing both of their stuff.

"Where to?" he asked, putting on his boots.

A slight quirk of a smile plucked at the hunter’s mouth as he looked up at his brother.

"You're never gonna believe this..."

#

An island skulked about in the swirling mist of early morning, dark green and suspicious, it ducked in and out of sight. Oblong, with mountains jutting up along the middle, like a bony spine, it looked like a large, moss-covered rock from far away. As an observer moved closer, the vegetation came into view, sparkling in the morning sunlight, covered with a crushed-diamond combination of dew and condensation.

The heat was oppressive, with the humidity doubling its power until every last mammal was left panting in the shade, waiting mindlessly for evening. The cold-blooded creatures, however, never batted an eye. They were the rulers of Isla Nublar and basked in the warmth that never left.

The undisputed ruler of these majestic creatures lay snoozing, sunning herself on the deserted helicopter pad. She had redecorated it, in her own fashion: bones, scat, tree branches, and deep scratches were everywhere, obliterating the sight of what the humans had left when they fled her in terror. Rex didn't miss the humans at all.

The queen of Isla Nublar sighed contentedly in her sleep, her scaly skin moving rhythmically with her breathing, up and down. She had no idea a swift and silent menace was approaching.

They burst from the brush without warning and were on her before she could even raise her head in defense. Four small, lithe bodies swarmed her mercilessly, claws and teeth working faster than any human eye could see.

With an outraged roar, Rex struggled to her feet, tiny front arms flailing helplessly. Her powerful tail came into play as she began to make headway at standing and flicked one of the hunters off her back. Echo, landing several feet away, screeched in indignation and scampered back to the fray, adding a fresh swipe at the vulnerable eyes.

"Hey!"

The shout could barely be heard over the din of roars, coughing, and chittering from the five reptiles. A human pushed his way through a fern and emerged from the jungle shadows, immediately zeroing in on the tussle.

"What the hell are you doing?" Owen barked.

Giving a cry, Blue scampered over Rex's back, effectively hidden from the human's view. Not a drop of blood had been spilled in this mock attack. The raptors merely grazed the tough hide of the aging tyrannosaurus, scampering deftly out of reach of the jaws that waited until just the right moment to snap shut.

"Hey! I saw you, yah little shit," the man shouted, stopping close to the underbrush and fixing the group with a baleful stare. "Get off that poor old girl, and I mean now!"

Delta's playful digging at Rex's ribs slowed and she glanced uncertainly from Owen to the place Blue had just disappeared. She coughed to her sisters. Charlie turned to look at her, then over her narrow shoulders at Owen. The human held out one arm, clutching his clicking device, the other planted firmly on one hip.

"Let's move it," he said. "We've got work to do and you're all goofing off! What am I, the only responsible one in this pack? Get. Off. Rex. Now!"

Giving a final cry of protest, Blue scampered out from around Rex, knocking the large chest with her head as she passed. The others followed, looking decidedly dejected at having their fun interrupted. Rex snapped at Echo's retreating tail and with a final roar, lumbered off to find a quieter spot to sleep.

"Alright, ladies," Owen said, looking at the four animals closely, but with a gleam of mixed pride and amusement in his eyes. "Before I was so  rudely interrupted, I was saying we've got some work ahead of us. And yeah, I know you don't like the headcams..." He continued, his eyes flicking to Delta who chittered in irritation. "But how else am I gonna get to the bottom of this? So let's go. Act your age for once."

Turning, with a click from his upraised hand, he vanished back into the brush. There was a pause, then the roar of a motorcycle revving up. Echo, Charlie, and Delta glanced at their leader. Blue coughed and sped off in pursuit of their human General. The others followed and all four vanished into the shadows, at top speed.

#

"Dinosaurs."

"Yeah."

" Dinosaurs? "

"Yes..."

"But, dude-"

"Right?"

The black Impala sped down the broken-down country road as Sam turned to gaze squarely at his brother from the passenger’s seat, half in shock and half in delight.

"I thought the place was shut down!" he continued, smiling, a truly rare sight on the young hunter’s face. "I considered taking a trip there, back when it was new, but..."

Sam shrugged as he left the sentence unfinished. Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess I shoulda known if we were going to get there it would be in the back door, on a job."

Sam didn't reply to this, just smiled again and shook his head.

It took them the better part of three days to get them from Moore, Utah to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. They stopped at the usual fleabag motels and Sam got most of the way through  The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring by the time they arrived. 

When they finally drove past “Welcome to Fort Lauderdale” on a sign, it took them more than two hours to find someone to take them anywhere near their destination. There were rumors of boatmen who had gone out, near the islands the Winchesters were asking about, and never returned.

Finally, they found someone willing to accept the danger, and a generous sum. Even then the man tried to convince them not to go. He also delayed them another 20 minutes while he went home to retrieve his “good luck” Glock 9mm.

The brothers barely had time to see a palm tree before they were on the nervous man’s boat, headed for Isla Nublar.

Sam was just folding his plaid shirt into his duffel, gazing around in amazement at the sunshine and breathing deeply of the salt air, when he heard a groan from Dean. Turning, the younger Winchester saw his brother, hunched in his seat, his face a grim mask.

"You ok?" he asked, moving to sit beside Dean, now sporting just a tee-shirt.

For answer, Dean leapt to his feet and dashed to the railing. He grasped the edge in a white-knuckled grip, leaned over, and coughed up the contents of his stomach into the sea. Sam hid a grin and went to stand next to his sick brother, upwind in case of more mass exodus. He was briefly grateful for Dean's short hair. The tall man would do almost anything for his brother, but he was not about to reenact a teens-gone-wild flick with him, holding his hair out of the way.

"I don't... Like..." Dean groaned, without raising his head. "Large vehicles. Planes... Boats... All of those sons-of-bitches can b-"

Abruptly the muscles in his torso tensed again and Sam cringed back, one hand gingerly patting Dean's back. The elder Winchester's hand shot up and smacked his brother's comfort away.

"Get off me," he croaked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood straight. Despite the Sunshine State’s radiant warmth, his face was pale and his eyes were over-bright. His arms, chest, and legs trembled.

"You look terrible," Sam said.

"Thanks for the newsflash, Dougie," Dean shot back.

"Do you want me to...?" Sam offered, not entirely certain he knew what he was about to suggest.

"No!" grunted his brother, allowing his head to hang down between his arms, over the railing.

"Ok."

Turning, Sam headed back for his seat to enjoy their brief respite from the darkness that ruled their lives.

The trip took them most of the day. At noon they were offered some dried fish and a strange smelling liquor by way of lunch. Sam gratefully accepted the fish, chewing it introspectively and finding it not at all bad. Dean cringed away from the smell of the food but took a few gulps of the liquor. It did him no good at all. Before long it too had splashed over the side.

By sunset, they began their approach to the island. It was spectacular in the fading light, splashes of color dyeing the otherwise green island intense shades of purple, red, and gold.

"Wow. Hey, Dean! Look at that."

There was no audible reply to Sam's invitation, but when he looked over at his brother, Dean was making a very loud statement with just one finger. Sam chuckled and fell silent. He sincerely hoped Dean's usual good humor for a hunt would return once they reached dry land. Sam did not want to deal with this foul mood for the entire trip. It was one thing to put up with Dean, cooped up in a motel room and quite another when half the inhabitants of a small island could kill you.

The boat came to a stop about 200 feet off the coast of the island and the owner told Sam he would go no closer. The brothers clambered, in Dean's case a tad unsteadily, into a dinghy. Sam waved his final thanks to the boatsman and began rowing for the rapidly darkening shoreline.

If it were possible, the tiny boat made Dean’s life even worse. He retched twice more before they arrived at the shore. Muscles strained but nothing appeared as his stomach was empty. Sam made no comment and focused his attention on the ocean as his strong arms pulled them closer and closer to the island.

“Bad enough we gotta haul ass all the way out here,” Dean muttered when they were almost embarked on the sand. “At night too. How're we supposed to even find this guy... What’s his name again?”

“Owen,” Sam grunted over the crunch of fiberglass on sand. “Owen Grady. Come on.”

The younger brother extended his hand to the older, who grasped it and stumbled over the side. As he splashed the few steps to the shore, Sam shouldered their duffels and followed.

Even though the Winchester brothers were from the southern states, and well traveled within the USA, they had rarely felt heat and humidity this intense. Sam set the bags down on the sand and wiped his brow with the bottom of his t-shirt.

Dean too had stripped down to just a t-shirt. He was already on the sand, sitting, eyes closed, as he waited for the solid ground to stop swaying with the swell of imaginary surf. His stomach was beginning to recover, but he still felt weak, and hungry.

Soon Sam was by his side, having successfully beached the dinghy. Worried, he crouched down beside his brother, a half swirl of a frown forming between his eyebrows.

“You gonna make it, man?” he asked, without a trace of sarcasm for once. When Dean got sick, he got really sick.

“Yeah, just gimme five minutes.”

“Uh,” said Sam, glancing up at the sky. “I don’t think we have that kinda time, dude.”

Looking up at the tropical sunset, bright golds mixing with orange, Dean sighed heavily. He reached for his duffel and pulled out his handgun. Seeing his brother arm himself, Sam did likewise. By the time both of them were upright, armed, and ready to hit the jungle, it was full evening.

Standing and gazing toward the trees, Dean grabbed his duffel and shouldered it.

“Where did you say he was going to meet us?”

“Nowhere,” Sam shrugged, keeping a watchful eye on the jungle nearest them. “He said he’d find us.”

“Well that is cryptic and unhelpful,” Dean complained, his eyes raking the treeline. “Does the son of a bitch expect us to wait out here until we become dino dinner?”

 

“The son of a bitch expected you to be here this morning,” came a third voice before Sam could answer. Both brothers spun around, raising their firearms.


	2. Chapter 2

The man who stepped from the jungle could only be Owen Grady. He wore rugged clothes and a scruff of beard. His wide, friendly face was set in a slight frown, but his bright blue eyes held a spark of amusement.

“Damn you move quiet,” complimented Dean, impressed against his will. “You gotta be Owen.”

“Yeah, but we can dispense with the pleasantries until I get you guys inside,” said the former marine, his eyes in constant movement, scanning their surroundings. “It's not even that safe for me out here after dark.”

“We can handle ourselves,” said Dean, an edge of defiance to his voice.

“Oh yeah?” grinned Grady. “You're cute. Move your ass.”

Before Dean could respond, Sam kicked his brother’s leg as he moved past him.

“Lead the way, please,” said the tall man.

There was a mutter from Dean as he followed Sam, following Owen. The island dweller held a rifle easily in his hands as he led them a short way through the jungle, on a clearly well-worn path. As they made their silent progress, tension marked the lead figure’s every movement.

“What's the matter?” Dean asked, after a few minutes. “Dinos got your-”

“Shut up,” hissed Owen, in response. Turning, Sam was forced to stop and the other man fixed Dean with an irritable glare. “There are a hundred things in this jungle more badass than you. Now move.”

“Hey!” Dean said. “I am a total bad-”

“Shut up,” hissed Owen and, to Dean’s surprise, Sam, at the same time. The shock was enough to silence the hunter.

As Owen turned and began to move off, Sam grabbed his brother's arm and spoke in an undertone.

“You know all those times when people didn't know the danger they were in, and we just really wished they’d shut up and follow us?” the younger Winchester asked. “Well now we’re the ones in danger. So please just do what he says. I don't want the gossip around the hunter bars to be that the Winchesters were eaten by Barney.”

“Most hunters aren't smart enough to come up with that,” muttered Dean, nevertheless falling into step behind his brother.

“I'll text them,” whispered Sam, angrily. “As the t-Rex is gulping me down I will send that message to someone.”

“You guys are killing me,” said Owen, from point, through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” said Sam.

“Sorry,” mimicked Dean, softly.

#

It was a long trek through the jungle.

Every dark tree seemed to Sam to be hiding lithe, scaly bodies. Not much scared the muscular hunter, but he'd decided to make an exception in this case. Humans and dinosaurs were separated from each other by millions of years of evolution, for a damn good reason. Ghosts and demons could toss you around the room, but velociraptors could show you your own intestines while beginning to eat you.

Tramping along behind his nervous brother, Dean kept his head down, still angry. Who the hell was this guy to tell him what to do? Sam had a point, they were out of their depth here, but he could have been nicer about it. Shown a little colleague-to-colleague courtesy.

For his part, Owen was continually one second away from letting the other two men be eaten. The things standing in the way of that decision were the fact that the big one seemed smart, and he had promised himself when he returned to Isla Nublar that his raptors would never again taste human flesh. Not if he could help it.

Every twig snap made Sam's shoulders tighten. His eyes were in constant motion, like the man in front of him, looking for the flash of a reptilian eye. The tension mounted as their march began to push an hour in length. If something were watching, and how could it not be, it was biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

One of Dean's boots grazed the other Winchester's heel and he jumped, biting back a grunt of surprise. Dean gave him a quizzical look that Sam ignored, he continued following Owen.

This was stupid. Prudence was called for but Sam knew he was working himself into a tense and immovable state. If this kept up he would be dead in the event of an attack.

"Relax, Sammy..." came John's words in his mind's ear. "If you tense up, you're dead. Stay loose. Nothing's gonna get you unless you let it."

The smallest of smiles flickered across Sam's face, like a moon shadow, then vanished before either of the other two could see it. As more time passed, it seemed like all he could remember about their dad was the good stuff. The lessons, the advice, the well-deserved ass-kickings. All the fights, the immovable obsession, the drinking, the... Less savory parts of his parental discipline seemed to fade into obscurity. The rose-colored glasses of time gave Sam a warmer feeling toward his father than he'd ever had in life.

Taking a slow, calming breath, the tallest man in the trio focused on his shoulders, dropping them away from his ears. Then he relaxed his left hand, allowing it to hang loose. His right hand stayed tense, but he kept his index finger aside the trigger.

Behind him, Dean glowered at the dark jungle.

Suddenly, Owen halted at the head of the small group and held up one fist, clenched in a signal to stop. The taller Winchester halted, his ears straining to hear what had alerted their guide and host. The elder Winchester had been watching his shoes and bumped into Sam in the dark. He grunted and Owen’s eyes flashed a warning. Dean sensed the suddenly focused tension and froze.

Then both brothers heard it, the faintest rustle of leaves directly ahead of them. All eyes stared into the darkness they had just begun to adjust to. Fear began to rise in Sam's throat and he gripped his gun tighter.

Something made the back of Dean’s neck prickle, right behind him, in the deepest silence... Almost too deep. The absolute, sharply defined silence of someone or something moving without a sound.

Slowly, feeling very foolish, just like the first one to get eaten in every monster flick, he turned.

Delta eyed the fresh meat with a curious tilt of her head, fierce eyes blinked once and she shifted on her vicious hind claws.

Dean Winchester, killer of demons, wrangler of ghosts, the man who had stopped the apocalypse and spent 40 years in hell, found his mouth going dry. He reached out a hand, with exaggerated caution and grabbed Sam's jacket.

Turning irritably, it took the younger hunter a moment to realize what Dean's deal was now. When his eyes focused on the expertly camouflaged animal, it took every ounce of his self-control not to empty a clip in it out of sheer nerves. If he made a move, he knew, this monster would have Dean before a single bullet connected.

The hand not holding Sam's gun shot backward and connected with Owen's bare forearm. They were joined, like a daisy-chain, for a moment before the raptor expert turned.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed, and Dean was confused to hear a note of relief in his tone.

In a second there was a glint of metal in his hand and a soft click came from the palm. Delta's head tilted the opposite way, then, with barely a whisper of leaves, she vanished.

Sam saw Owen's tiny half smile before he turned and continued, with less concern now, on their way. The younger Winchester wasn't sure he felt as calm about the recent events, but when the expert was relaxed, you followed his lead.

The trio of men broke through the trees twenty uneventful minutes later to see a dark, deserted bunker, lovingly decorated with deep claw marks. This unsettling sight did nothing to calm Dean's mounting nerves.

The claw marks were barely spared a glance by Owen as he marched to the heavily reinforced door and unlocked it with a key. Opening the door, he ushered the other two inside, scanning the tree line.

As the two brothers ducked into the building, Sam was just ahead of Dean and blinked in the even darker surroundings. Then Owen had joined them and there was a loud and metallic clunk as he secured the entrance. The shadow of their guide passed Sam's elbow and suddenly strong lighting flared.

Shielding his eyes, Sam began to make out blurry shapes in their new surroundings. As things came into focus he saw mostly crates, labeled and stacked neatly. In a clearing of such boxes was a single chair and table. Owen bent and fished out a bottle and three glasses from a shorter crate. Setting them down on the table, he pulled over two low crates and sat on one, motioning for Sam and Dean to take a seat.

The Winchesters sat, feeling more secure in this building without windows that could most accurately be described as a bunker. Sam briefly wondered what other rooms Owen had as he could see no kitchen or bed. Owen poured from the bottle and raised a glass to his lips.

"Welcome to Isla Nublar," he said.

"Thanks," said Dean, taking a sip himself. The whiskey wasn't bad, he was impressed. "And thanks for... Not letting us become next on the menu for those over-sized lizards."

Chuckling, Owen shook his head as Sam echoed his brother's sentiments with a nod.

"You two dingbats were never in any danger from Echo and Delta," he said. "They were just hazing the new guys. They get bored easily."

"Hang on," Sam said, setting his glass down. "Who?"

“Those two raptors in the jungle,” Owen said, smiling. “They’re names are Echo and Delta.”

“You named all the dinos on this island?” Dean asked, incredulously.

“No, not really,” Owen shrugged, taking another sip of his drink. “But the raptor pack all have names because we’re a team. I guess they wanted to welcome you to the island by scaring the shit out of you. I think that means they like you.”

“Wait, wait, just hold on a second,” Dean said, looking over at their guide steadily while Sam did the same. “You're telling me you're on a team with those monsters?”

“Dean,” said Sam, a warning note in his tone.

“Hey!” said Owen, leaning forward and extending a finger toward the elder Winchester. “They've been here a lot longer than you, pal. Watch what words you start throwing around about my raptors.”

Shrugging, Dean sat back in his chair and shut his mouth. Owen continued to watch him for a few seconds before taking another sip.

“Anyway,” he said. “Yeah. I'm the alpha of the team. That's how I knew once they were around, we were safe. They have never been overly fond of humans but I had a hunch if you were with me, they’d protect you, too.”

“A hunch?” Dean said, before Sam could kick him under the table.

“Yeah,” said Owen, leaning across the table. “A hunch based on months of working with them. And you're still alive I might add.”

Sam glared at his brother, silently begging him to shut his mouth permanently. Taking Sam’s advice, Dean backed down and took a desultory sip of his drink.

“That's really impressive,” said Sam, eventually, to Owen. “I mean they must have such primitive brains. How did you get them to trust you? And, you know...”

“Not rip off my limbs and have me for a light afternoon snack?” Owen finished, amused. “Yeah, it wasn't easy. Took months and months until they’d even listen to me. I don't think I'd ever have gotten to the point of riding with them on my own.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, leaning forward.

“This is all fascinating,” Dean began. “But don't you think we should get down to brass tacks about this ghost problem you've gotten yourself into?”

"Yeah," said Owen. "The loudmouth is right. Let's hit the sack and take a stab at it tomorrow. I'm guessing that even though I'm no ghost expert that it isn't smart to tangle with Casper in the dark."

"You got it," said Sam before Dean could retort.

"Super," came Owen's sarcastic remark, his gaze fixed on Dean. "This way to your spacious abode."

He led them between two walls of crates into a room that had clearly once been an office. It had been refitted with two cots and a bucket.

"If either of you boys needs to tinkle in the night," said Owen. "That little beauty's your friend. Other than that, sleep tight."

"Fan-freakin'-tastic," Dean said after Owen had left. "We get to piss in a bucket while prehistoric monsters wait in the buffet line outside."

 

Ignoring his brother, Sam withheld his own private thoughts as to specifically why this would be particularly bad as a result of which body part would be most likely to vanish first.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Their first night on the island passed blissfully uneventful. Sam slept lightly and awoke only once when Dean availed himself of the amenities he had disparaged not five hours previously. He smiled to himself and went back to sleep.

Dean woke early the next morning, on hunter time which usually meant a solid 4 hours of sleep a night. Sam was beginning to stir beside him and he was surprised to smell something frying. Neither of the brothers had changed out of their clothing the previous night so they immediately laced up their boots and retraced the previous night’s journey into the old office.

Following the smell of cooking, Dean soon led his brother into a room that was significantly less organized than the storage and sleeping areas they’d seen. Objects of various utilitarian value lay on every surface and yet it seemed to the elder Winchester that there was an underlying system. Owen moved around the room harmoniously, preparing a breakfast that probably smelled better than it tasted.

"Morning, sleeping beauties," he tossed at them cheerfully, not breaking stride in his meal preparation. "Congratulations on making it through the night."

"I've been in worse," Dean said, uncertain where to stand or sit.

"Yeah, anyway," Sam said, looking at his brother in a rather pointed way, Dean thought. "Why don't you fill us in on the spirit?"

"Right down to business," said Owen. "I respect that. Take a seat fellas and I'll tell you everything I know."

The former navy man gestured to what might generously be called a table. At least it was keeping several hand tools off the floor and had a cluster of crates around it. Dean perched uneasily on one and Sam took the one next to him. The younger Winchester’s height caused him to tower above the table and Dean unsuccessfully hid a smirk. Sam gave him a quick, annoyed glance.

“I think I first noticed something goofy going on a few weeks back,” Owen said. “I was out with the raptors, and I saw something flash by, to the side of the trail. It totally spooked the pack and they scattered. I've never seen them so scared and surprised.”

“They’ve never been snuck up on before?” Dean said, dryly.

“No,” returned Owen, turning to look at the hunters, his tone a hammer strike. “They have a keen sense of smell. You know how many things can sneak up on my raptors? Rocks! That's how many."

“Or a ghost,” Sam put in, with a slight, apologetic shrug.

Wordlessly, Owen tapped his nose and turned back to his work. He began loading three plates with piles of varying shades of brown. One pile oozed down itself to congeal gently around the others.

“It's not grub you'd get at the Ritz,” he said, sitting the Winchesters’ plates down in front of them, then taking his own seat and beginning to eat. “But it’ll keep you from starving.”

“Better than day-old Mac and cheese, with marshmallow fluff,” shrugged Dean, who began to shovel food into his iron stomach.

Sam looked more judiciously at his meal and considered the relative merits of starvation as a diet technique. Dean’s elbow shot sideways as he took a forkful and scored a pointed hit on his brother’s arm. Sighing inwardly, Sam took the hint and began, gingerly, to eat.

“Ninja rocks being scarce around these parts I decided to take a pill before doing anything,” continued Owen, too busy eating to notice this exchange. “Then it showed up again, another night. Why is it these things never pay a guy a visit around noon hour? Huh? Is it some ghost rule they have gotta skulk around after dark?”

“The radiation of the sun can, in some cases, disrupt the electromagnetic resonance of spirits,” said Sam, automatically. “And the gullible are more prone to false alarms after dark.”

A silence began to grow as Owen blinked at the tall man, fork halfway to his mouth. He shook his head and smiled slightly.

“Wow,” he said. “I know I called in the Ghostbusters but you guys really are experts, huh?”

“And sexy, too,” said Dean, before Sam could come up with a response.

Owen raised his eyebrows at the elder hunter and took another bite of food.

“Anyway,” Owen went on, “second sighting was also at night. I was just finishing up some repairs on the bike when something moving caught my eye. I turned to look and I saw this white, blurry thing dashing through the trees, right at me. It was just after sundown and I couldn't see worth a damn so I booked it into the bunker. As you can see I didn't have any windows to see anything else.”

"But it looked like a dino?" asked Dean. "Not a human."

"It was certainly the size of one of the larger dinosaurs," said Owen. "Bigger than the raptors, bigger than Rexy even."

"Perfect," stated Dean, sitting back in his chair and rolling your eyes.

"Hang on," Sam said to his brother, then turned to their host. "Rexy?"

"Rexy," repeated Owen. "Y'know, Tyrannosaurus Rex?"

"You gave one of the baddest carnivores that's ever existed a cute nickname?" asked Dean, one eyebrow ascending in disbelief.

"I just got tired of saying Tyrannosaurus rex, Tyrannosaurus rex, Tyrannosaurus rex over and over again," Owen shrugged.

"Sure," said Sam, quickly, before his brother could continue on that line of questioning. "Anything else? Did you ever see it more clearly?"

"Nah," said Owen, finishing his food and sitting back in his chair. "That second one convinced me I wasn't going island crazy and I called up Joe, who called Frank, who eventually found the two of you. And here we are."

Dean glanced sideways and noticed his brother hadn't taken more than a couple bites of his meal. Leaning forward, he nudged the taller Winchester's plate with his elbow and looked at Owen.

"Both sightings, they in the same place?" he asked, hoping Sammy would get the hint and start eating.

"No," Owen replied, as Sam glanced distractedly down at his plate, and started eating. "Is that important?"

"Could be," said Dean, frowning. "Makes it more difficult. If the spook manifests in the same place it makes it easier to track. Thing I don't get is why a dino would want to stick around? What's a reptile got to be angry about? You eat, you shit, you die. Seems like the life if you ask me."

"In my experience, the meat eaters are usually pretty angry, unless they're asleep," shrugged Owen.

"What time were the sightings?"

"You think time really matters here?"

“Roughly,” Dean said, trying not to grit his teeth.

“Roughly dark,” Owen returned.

"We can work with that," Sam cut in. "Dean and I have been on stake-outs before."

"A stake-out is at a fixed location," Dean pointed out. "We've got nothing. So that leaves wandering around this damp island hoping the spook gives up the ghost."

Owen raised an eyebrow at this, folding his arms across his chest and watching the two brothers as if he were at a tennis match.

"We've done that plenty of times as well," Sam shrugged, chewing his final mouthful of food.

"Not in a zoo where all of the animals are out of their cages and can kill you."

"I can help there," said Owen.

As one man, the brothers turned to him.

"How?" they chorused.

"The raptors," said the ex-navy man. "I can disburse them in a kind of perimeter. They can herd others out of our way so none of them snack on your lily-white ass."

"Yeah," said Dean, frowning. "Time you explained that, raptor boy."

"What are you talking about?" smirked Owen. "You don't know dozens of guys with their own team of trained raptors?"

"Seriously," Sam said.

"Seriously," Owen said, rolling his eyes. "I was brought in to work here, around the time they first started bringing in guests. They were fascinating. The raptors, not the guests. I saw right away how their pack worked. And I guess I just... Slid myself in as the leader. I trust them, they trust me. When the shit hit the fan they were kind enough to leave me un-gnawed and the rest is history. I decided I liked raptors more than humans."

"That's why they didn't eat us in the jungle," Sam summarized.

"Yep," Owen said, climbing to his feet and beginning to clear away the dishes. "But I can't guarantee they'd show the same courtesy if I wasn't with you. Maybe you should meet them. Gain their trust a little. You up for that? Assuming ghost hunting is a purely nocturnal activity."

The brothers exchanged a glance, fear flashing a fin in brown and green eyes. Owen turned his back to toss their plates into the tiny sink.

"Yeah let's do this," said Dean at last, standing himself and unconsciously clenching his gut.

"Super," said Owen with a patina of sarcasm over the word. "Lemme get my gear."

As Owen disappeared into another room of the fortress, Dean and Sam retrieved their handguns from the room they'd slept in. As he watched Sam checking his weapon, Dean found his mind wandering.

He was afraid, he wasn't too proud to admit that to himself. There had always been one person he could tell about his fears, about his doubts, his frustrations. However, Dean was not desperate enough for a chat to find out if Owen had a Ouija board in this place.

"Seems like Owen knows what he's doing," said Sam, and Dean blinked in surprise, jerking his thoughts back to the present moment.

 

"Let's hope so," the older brother grumbled, not wanting to admit to how accurate Sam's remark had been.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

They were back in the kitchen in time to see Owen disengaging the heavy bolt on the door. Sunlight streamed straight into Dean's eyes and he cringed. Beside him, Sam had been prepared for this and one hand was raised to shield him from the worst until he could adjust.

They walked into the gentle heat of the tropical morning and Dean took a deep breath, glad to be out of the stuffy bunker. As he gazed around them, he saw, as if for the first time, the luscious greens of their surroundings. Now that they were here, and had nothing productive to do, he finally took in the beauty around him.

"This way," Owen said, starting off toward a path in the jungle.

The man had clearly lived here a long time and made use of a machete. Clear trails were cut and well maintained in the brush around them. Owen led the brothers along one such trail, that eventually opened up to a clearing.

“Welcome to the coop,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

Dean stared at the structure in the center of the clearing. It went a fair distance to defying description. It was built out of a handful of different materials, cobbled together in uncertain seams, but to an effect that radiated sturdiness. It was a squat, one-storey affair, with a peaked roof and a large ramp as the only entrance and exit. A few piles of dung, swarming with flies lay around the clearing and a sign, painted inexpertly, hung above the ramp. ‘The Chicken Coop’ it read.

It took Sam a moment to muster a response to this sight. He blinked for a moment then turned to Owen.

“You keep the raptors here?” he asked, his voice a tad faint.

“It’s more like they keep me back there,” Owen said, gesturing back toward the bunker they’d just left. He moved to a pile of dung and nudged it with a toe. “And when they learn to read English, my life is forfeit. You want the tour?”

The raptor trainer le d Sam and Dean around the clearing.

“I got that wood from my old digs, that metal I cut off the wreck of a chopper, I lifted that beam from a supply convoy abandoned on the eastern shore.”

The brothers grew even more impressed as they circled the building. As they came around the side, approaching the entrance to the clearing, a large, reptilian head poked unexpectedly around the side. Its quick, darting eyes took in all three men and it gave a cry. Suddenly the small group of humans was outnumbered by raptors, all of whom were staring intently, nostrils wide, hungrily drinking in the unfamiliar scents.

"Dean, Sam," Owen said, smiling slightly. "Meet the team. That's Blue, Echo, Charlie, and Delta."

Inquisitive, reptilian eyes stared into Dean's green human eyes and he fought to keep his fear hidden. The raptor identified as Delta was as tall as him, and shifted agilely from one lethally-equipped foot to the other. She tilted her head, as though trying to figure him out.

"No disrespect," Dean said, sensing disrespect would be the last mistake he'd ever make. "But... Why aren't they eating us right now?"

"An ass-ton of training," shrugged the blond man. "They got a couple humans before I arrived. And after..." He added, regret seeping into his voice.

"Got?" clarified Sam, who was being sized up by Blue.

"Ate," Owen returned. "Though really they don't care what meat it is. Anything they can get in their claws."

“I taste  terrible ,” Dean whispered to Delta, earnestly.

It took a considerable amount of Sam’s considerable self-control to prevent a snigger from escaping him. He did smile and glance briefly toward his brother. Blue, seeing this movement, clicked and moved in closer to Sam. Oddly scented raptor breath caressed his face and he froze. Slowly, uncertain if this was the correct thing, Sam raised a hand. Blue tilted her head but made no move to stop him. Then the Winchester’s hand was resting on one side of the scaly head.

“Woah,” said Owen, softly.

“What?”

“Dean! Keep eye contact with her!”

“It's ok...” said Sam, his hand moving smoothly across Blue’s face.

The other two raptors looked to Owen, as if seeking guidance. A flash of metal appeared in the raptor trainer’s hand and the brothers heard a metallic clicking noise. Echo and Charlie relaxed, but their eyes never left Sam’s face.

Despite Owen’s warning, Dean’s eyes were drawn inexorably toward Sam and the raptor. He jumped when something hard touched the back of his head. Delta had grown jealous of the attention Blue was getting from Sam and, horse-like, had knocked the back of Dean’s head with her nose.

“Woah,” breathed Dean. “What... What do you want... Girl?”

Grinning, Owen found his shoulders sinking away from his ears. They would be all right.

Delta’s head tilted as she clicked at Dean, and he shook his head, baffled.

“What-?”

“Dean.”

“What, Sam? I'm busy here...”

“Yeah. Scratch her behind that flat part on the side of the head.”

“Pass.”

“Dean!”

“I'm pretty attached to my hands...”

“It's ok,” cut in Owen. “They trust you now. Sam’s right. I'm damned if I know how, but they love being scratched behind the ear panels.”

Steeling his nerves, Dean slowly raised a hand to comply with this new information. Every time the raptor shifted he stopped to allow his heart rate time to return to something approaching normal. Suddenly Delta, growing impatient with waiting, dipped her head, and pushed it into Dean’s hand.

“Wow.”

“I think she likes you, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean told Owen, through gritted teeth.

“Fantastic,” grinned Owen, clapping his hands, causing all four raptors to flick their heads toward him. “So now you have four bodyguards. Not much on this island is scarier than them.”

Almost as if she had understood this compliment, Delta sat back on her tail and showed her teeth to her alpha, looking for all the world like a favorite Labrador retriever awaiting a Milk Bone.

“Alright you lazy heap of scales,” Owen barked. “Quit schmoozing with the new guys and let's get organized.”

He clicked three times and the raptors wheeled away from the brothers and reformed into an arrow, Blue forward with her sisters behind her.

The rest of the day was filled with rushing sounds in the undergrowth, sticky heat, and a world of green. Owen showed the brothers what was left of the island. Nature had begun to regain her territory. After standing nose-to-nose with the raptors, none of the other creatures they saw really spooked the Winchesters.

There was one hair-raising moment when they hid in the trees from some pterodactyl winging past overhead. Dean’s breath came in short grunts as he stood perfectly still, one tree from his brother. The tension eased as the dinosaurs’ cries faded into the distance.

The constant presence of the raptors around the three men was felt and heard, not seen. The hiss and rustle of leaves grazing fast moving scales and the prickling on the back of Dean’s neck were the only indications he was being watched over and protected.

The elder Winchester mused to himself as Owen was showing them the Bird Cage, from the safe distance of the tree line, what a bond the raptor trainer had formed with these prehistoric hunters. Animals had never been a big part of Dean’s life and now to see such an obvious and strong connection between man and beast... He wondered silently if he'd been missing out.

Sam had endless questions for Owen. He enquired what species lived on the island and if they interbred.

"They might try," chuckled Owen. "But far as I was told that's impossible. Though," he continued, thoughtfully, "technically they shouldn't be able to breed at all. So who knows."

As the sun began to arc overhead and the heat started flexing its muscles, the trio headed back to Owen's fortress for lunch. Sam pulled his brother aside while their host prepared the meal.

"What's going on?" he said, his brown eyes seeking his elder brother's green eyes.

"With what?" said Dean, playing for time. He knew full well what the younger Winchester was referring to.

"With you," he said. "You've barely said a thing all day."

"I'm... In awe," said Dean, glancing sideways at his brother. "At the splendor of nature around me. I'dda thought you of all people would get that."

"Fine," said Sam, shrugging. "Whatever, man. Just don't let the 'splendor' distract you from the job at hand."

"Me?" said Dean, in mock offense. "Distracted? How dare you."

Without another word, Sam turned and walked back to the living area.

"Everything ok?" Owen said. "Sound in here echoes like hell," he added when he noticed the chagrined look on Dean's face as he entered the kitchen.

"Everything's fine, pal," said Dean testily.

"Yeah, I can tell," the ex-navy man returned.

"So, lunch?" Sam put in, cutting across the tension.

"Wieners and beans," said Owen, a shade apologetically.

"If it's hot, I'll eat it," said Dean.

"He's not lying," said Sam, settling himself at the small table. "He once made mac and cheese with marshmallow fluff."

Grimacing, Owen spooned out three bowls and sat down beside Sam.

"Sounds... Exotic."

"That's what he said," Dean nodded toward his brother.

“So what do you think of my humble abode?” Owen said, around a mouthful of beans.

“Stunning,” said Sam, before Dean could chew his first mouthful enough to respond. “I can see why you came back here after what happened.”

“He means the scenery, right?” Owen checked with Dean, casting a mockingly concerned glance Sam’s direction.

“Let's hope so,” said the elder brother. “But we didn't exactly grow up in Downton Abbey so for all I know this could be Sammy’s idea of a palace.”

“Hah hah,” said Sam, glowering at his brother over his beans.

“Your security is good,” said Dean, a high compliment from him. “This bunker could keep you alive what... Two weeks?”

“A full month,” said Owen, a touch of pride in his voice. “I could ride out the apocalypse in this sucker.”

The Winchesters exchanged a glance.

"Well," Owen sighed, rising from his seated position and clearing away his dish. "You two are on your own now. I'm indulging in a siesta before the real work starts at sundown. You're welcome to hit the hay, or not. If you go outside, take a raptor with you, they're posted guard around the bunker."

“Hey-!” began Dean, half-rising from his seat. Sam’s arm shot out and pushed his hot-headed brother back down.

“Thanks,” he said, pointedly, his eyes on Dean.

The ex-navy man’s eyes swiveled for a moment between the two, then he shrugged, saluted and disappeared into his bedroom.

“What the hell, man?” Sam asked, quietly, after Owen had been gone a few seconds.

“Shut up,” said Dean, pushing off his brother’s arm. “He was bossing us around, like kids!”

"Yeah," Sam returned. "Because we  are kids here, Dean! You and I know  nothing about these creatures and he does! You're just mad because for the first time since Dad you aren't in charge."

"Nope," said Dean, when he had recovered from the shock. "No, I  am in charge, because otherwise, that idiot is going to get his ass Swazye'd by Barney."

Sighing, Sam stood up from the table and turned away from his brother, his shoulders creating a barrier.

"First of all," he began, keeping his voice level. "That was  my joke, get your own material. Second, yeah, when Casper shows his scaly face, you're the boss. But until then, that "idiot" is your boss. And you better start treating him like it or his harem of Jurassic bitches are going to pick you out of their teeth."

"I..." Dean began, standing as well. "He-! Fine. Fine."

"You mean you'll stop picking a fight with him every chance you get?"

"I wasn't-!" Dean stopped at the look on his brother's face. "...yeah."

 

“Thank you,” Sam said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice.


	5. Chapter 5

The bright light of a tropical day was just beginning to shift into the oranges and reds of an island sunset when Owen jumped off his bed. He strolled past the sleeping chambers of his quarrelsome guests and half peeked in. The younger brother was lying on his cot, back to the door, but something told the ex-navy man he wasn’t asleep. The elder brother was sitting in one corner, brooding. As Owen paused at the door, he looked up and narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah?” he said by way of greeting.

“Sun’s getting low,” said Owen. “Time to move this thing out.”

"Sam," Dean grunted, standing and arming himself with his pearl-handled gun shoved into the waistband of his jeans and grabbing a shotgun from his duffel. Zipping it up, he slung the shapeless bag across his back.

The younger Winchester rose without a word and similarly prepared himself for the hunt.

"What's with the arsenal?" Owen asked, one eyebrow lifting.

"Rock salt," said Sam. "Think of it as ghost repellant."

"Ghost repellant," Owen repeated, nonplussed. "Ok, whatever."

As Dean moved to walk past Sam, toward the exit, he found his brothers long, muscular arm blocking his way.

"Don't," Sam said when Dean turned a confused and angry expression on him.

"Get out of my way."

“There is zero room for ‘personalities’ on a hunt,” Sam answered his brother, gazing steadily down into the green eyes.

Dean was the first to blink.

“I already pinky promised you,” he said, and Sam knew this would be the only assurance he would get.

“Fine.”

As Sam removed his arm from his brother’s path, Dean made an impatient gesture and plunged after the raptor trainer.

Out in the rapidly fading dark, the brothers joined Owen, who stood, surrounded by the raptor squad, in complete, motionless, silence. Sam and Dean approached cautiously. The five of them seemed to be communing. There was a relaxation to the circle that defied description.

Then, without warning, Owen’s arm shot up and the raptors turned, in perfect unison, to face the wall of trees. The man turned to his guests and smiled.

“Normally I'd use the bike for this,” he said, motioning for the two men to join him, nearer the raptors. “But I doubt you two can run that fast. They’re all ready. Where should we start?”

“Take us to the first place you saw the spook,” Dean said, cradling the shotgun easily in both hands. He looked serious, but not overly concerned.

Nodding, Owen motioned for them to follow. Sam watched the back of the blonde head studiously. Had this been his plan all along, or had he overheard their conversation and decided to give the reins to Dean? He didn't give much away past that easy smile, but Sam still got the sense he was in control the entire time. No wonder Dean had been butting heads with this guy. They were practically the same.

Dean noticed none of this. Sam’s serious, thinking face only meant one thing to the elder Winchester. Well, two things. That he wouldn't be in the mood for any of Dean’s hilarious jokes, and later, much later, if Sam was in the right mood, he would share what was on his mind.

“It's just up ahead,” Owen said, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the gathering darkness, even though it was clear he'd meant to pitch it lower.

Shifting his finger on the trigger, Dean watched their surroundings and was suddenly reminded they weren't alone when a slit-pupiled eye flashed at him from the undergrowth.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, feeling his heart return to normal.

“Delta,” Owen murmured, without turning around. “Quit it.”

There was the softest of chuckles from behind Dean and the only thing keeping him from whirling on his brother and throttling him was the hunt.

A few cautious steps later, they emerged into a clearing that differed from the others. It had all the lush, dark green surroundings as every clearing on the island, but it also had charred trunks, burned fragments of vine littering the ground. Dean caught the unmistakable sight of bullet holes in the tree nearest the small group.

“Over here,” said the elder Winchester, in a low rumble, jerking his head toward a handy growth of ferns to their right. Once the three men were crouched, half hidden, but able to see the entire clearing, he looked at Owen. “What happened here?”

“The Indominus,” said Owen.

“The what?” said the Winchesters.

“The Frankenstein of dinosaurs,” he said, and launched into a brief explanation of how a demand for bigger, scarier dinosaurs had prompted scientists to create an unstable and dangerous hybrid. “Idiots,” he concluded, with feeling.

“And this is where you saw the ghost?” Sam asked, eventually, as he exchanged looks with his brother.

“Yeah,” said Owen, a look of dawning realization crossing his face. “You think it’s one of ACU haunting me?”

“Not unless the abominable snow-Dino was part of that,” said Dean.

“Are you saying-?” Owen began, but cut off with a violent shiver.

“Was that a cold spot?” Sam hissed. The two brothers had grown noticeably more tense at the ex-navy man’s story.

“Icy,” confirmed Owen in confusion, his breath rising before him. “But... It's the tropics.”

Ignoring him, Dean’s green eyes scanned the clearing, both hands gripping the shotgun. His brother leaned closer to their host.

“Where are the raptors?”

Wordlessly, Owen pointed them out as the steam of Sam’s breath faded. Dean caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and gave a slight nod. At the blonde man’s indication, the eye could strain to make out the scaly figured crouched in the underbrush.

The hunter tried to tabulate all the threats in their immediate vicinity. He wasn't sure if he would prefer to be killed by a ghost or an irate raptor who caught a blast of rock salt by accident. He'd be just as dead in either case.

The usual rustle of the jungle faded suddenly to an eerie silence. The brothers exchanged another glance.

“What-?”

Dean made a quick gesture to silence Owen, just as something moved across the clearing. Shadows clustered, parted, then coalesced into a shape. Pale, and growing bigger every second, it moved through the tree opposite them, toward them.

“Shit.”

This time the hunters made no move to quiet their friend. The spirit of the Indominus was heading purposefully toward them.

“Take him left... Go!” Dean ordered as he erupted out of their hiding place in the undergrowth and took aim at the ghost. This was more or less unnecessary as it filled his entire field of view. Every glistening scale, every spine, and every tooth was terrifyingly in focus.

The first blast of rock salt caught the Indominus completely by surprise. It slowed its killing rush at the elder Winchester as a hole appeared in its chest. Its scream of rage was suddenly cut off as the second blast hit it in the face, followed closely by a blast from Sam, to Dean’s left. Not enough of the spirit remained to reform and the last wisps faded with a mournful howl.

“What the-?!” Owen yelled but Dean was already bearing down on him, reloading the shotgun as he walked.

“Back to your bunker,” he said, eyes in constant motion, scanning the clearing.

“So it's dead?” demanded Owen.

“Nope,” said Sam, tension in his voice. He too was scanning, eyes in search of something they hoped not to find.

“We’ll explain when we get safe,” Dean said, pointing with his freshly loaded weapon. “Let's move.”

This time Owen obeyed, still frowning. He raised something from his pocket, there was a clicking, a rustle of underbrush, and he moved off. The Winchesters followed, each set of broad shoulders tensed to every slight sound.

#

“All right,” Owen began, once all three men were safely bolted in the bunker. “What the  hell just happened?”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, then the younger brother shrugged.

“We had a hunch it might turn out this way,” Dean said.

“Turn out what way?” Owen demanded.

“The ghost,” Dean said. “It's not your typical spook.”

“It's the Indominus,” Sam said.

Owen blinked.

“The Indominus is haunting me?”

“Yeah.”

In a daze, Owen turned, opened a cupboard, and produced a bottle. He didn't speak again until he had filled three glasses and downed his first.

“Ok,” he said, sitting at the tiny table. “It took me weeks to come around to the idea of ‘ghost’. I mean I saw the Swayze flick. Bullshit.”

Sam twitched as he sensed the increase in tension behind him, where Dean was standing.

“And now... You're trying to tell me,” he continued, gulping down a second drink with a grimace. “That that genetically mutilated menace to Mother Nature is the one going bump in the night?”

This speech so impressed Dean that he relaxed, sat across from Owen and took a glass.

“Yep.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.”

“Are we safe in here?” Owen asked, looking from one Winchester’s face to the other as he refilled their glasses.

“Not really,” said Sam. “It's just a smaller space. Less likely it will choose to appear.”

“And as far as we know you didn't fight it here,” said Dean, placing down his empty glass again.

“I've never fought it,” said Owen.

“You never fought the ghost,” said Dean, taking a sip. “But there’s a reason it's haunting you. You killed it, didn't you?”

“No,” Owen said. “No!” He added, as the brothers exchanged a skeptical look. “It was T-Rex and Blue. They took it down in the end.”

The Winchesters exchanged another look.

“Hang on,” Dean said, slowly. “If you weren't the one to kill it...”

“Is it possible?” Sam asked his brother.

“I don't see why not,” Dean said, an expression stealing over his face, half of wonder and half of terror. “We're already dealing with a non-human spirit...”

“Ok enough already,” Owen said, snapping his fingers before his guests’ eyes, trying to bring them out of this secret trance. “Enough of your mysterious insights. What the hell is going on,  now ?!”

“Ok, calm down,” said Sam. “Normally when you're dealing with a vengeful spirit-”

“Like this one,” put in Dean.

“It's the killer who gets haunted,” continued Sam, as Owen’s head swiveled, as though observing a tennis match. “Or the person who had done the most harm to the individual when they were alive. We had assumed all along that was you. But now-”

“Now we’re pretty sure it's more complicated than that,” finished Dean. “That thing out there is haunting your raptor.”

“You're shitting me,” came Owen’s eventual reply. He shook his head. “Then how come it only appears when I'm with them?”

“How do you know it does?” Sam shrugged.

Opening his mouth, Owen looked as though he were about to argue, then he shut it again.

“Point,” he conceded. “Hang on. Why is it only haunting Blue?”

“How do you know it is?”

“Right,” he said, nodding, staring at his glass. “But I mean... It can't hurt them. It's just a ghost.”

“Ordinary ghosts are capable, over time, of developing powers,” said Sam.

“And this one ain't ordinary,” said Dean, leaning forward. “No telling what-”

His words were cut off by an inhuman howl from outside. All three men’s heads turned, but Owen was the first to the door.

“That was Delta,” said, beginning to slide the bolt back. “Nothing on this island bothers them.”

Silently, the hunters moved to stand behind Owen, their weapons loaded. As they emerged into the muggy night, another shriek came from the direction of the raptor’s dwelling. Owen set off at a dead run, the brothers trying to keep pace and scan the jungle at the same time. When they arrived, nothing seemed out of place, but there were no raptors in sight.

“Blue?” Owen called. “None of this hide and seek shi-”

 

His words trailed off as a reptilian head emerged from the structure. It was instantly obvious something was wrong. A dark, sticky substance dripped down the raptor’s face. In the darkness it was difficult to make out, but it gleamed like blood.


	6. Chapter 6

Muttering a curse, Owen strode toward the raptor who chittered softly at the sight of him. As the Winchesters started following their host, the raptor froze, staring at the two men. Her eyes fixed on them in a hostile glare.

“Stop, guys,” Owen said, extending a hand behind him, never taking his eyes from the raptor. “What's the matter, girl? What's that on your... Face...?”

The brothers stopped where they were, but their eyes never ceased raking the scene. Dean felt a prickling on the back of his neck that never boded well. Owen moved close to the raptor in the shelter, who lowered her head to allow him to examine her, her eyes never leaving the hunters.

“What the hell?” Dean heard Owen mutter. “Blue, you stay there. Guys...”

The Winchesters waited for Owen to rejoin them and looked at his hand. It was covered in the same substance marring the reptilian face of his raptor. It wasn't blood.

“Oh shit,” Sam said, in an undertone.

“That's ectoplasm,” Dean said, looking up, urgently, into Owen’s face. “Forget the animals. We have to get back to your bunker,  now .”

“I'm not leaving them,” Owen stated, and it was a declaration. Quiet, but with force behind it.

Turning, the raptor trainer clicked his tongue. Blue looked at him, tilted her head and looked at the Winchesters. She coughed and disappeared behind the structure.

“Come on,” Owen hissed. “Get out here. All of you.  Now! ”

Four reptilian bodies materialized then, moving around the structure in formation. Defensive and protective, they blocked any entrance to their home.

“Ok, now move!” he said, half turning to see if they would follow.

No movement came from the animals, who could have been statues. It was plain none of them would be listening to him tonight. Slowly, Blue moved aside, offering a path into the structure. Owen looked back at brothers.

“I don't know what they want, but I'm not leaving them,” he said. “Get back to the bunker and I'll join you in a minute.”

“Alone out here, we’d be leaving you for dead,” Dean stated. “We leave together or not at all.” He didn't need to look at Sam to know he shared this opinion.

“Fine,” said Owen, and started to move for the structure.

The second the Winchesters move to follow him, Blue closed ranks again, dipping her head, as if to spring.

“What the hell?” Owen said, turning to watch this defensive move. “Come on, you know these guys!”

Blue remained motionless, nothing to indicate she’d heard or understood him.

“Maybe they don't want us in their home,” Sam suggested. “You go. We’ll keep watch.”

Glowering at the raptors, Owen vanished into the structure. Turning, Sam and Dean faced away from each other, every nerve jangling, every sense straining to catch a hint of the most dangerous specter they'd ever hunted.

Only a few seconds had passed when Dean heard Owen curse. It sounded more like surprise than anger or fear.

“Sam. Dean,” Owen said, forcing calm, as he emerged from the structure. “Move slowly away from the raptors. Don't argue. I'm right behind you. Do it now.”

Something about the tone made Dean decide to abandon the noble sentiment he'd expressed earlier. Moving with deliberate caution, he moved for the treeline, sensing Sam matching him. Owen sped up to overtake them.

“When I give the order,” he said, still in the same forced, calm voice, “run like hell for the trees. Straight, duck under branches. They go right through vines. If I don't make it, just get the hell out of here.”

Confusion intruded on Dean’s thoughts. What in the  hell was going on? What had Owen found in the raptor shelter? Why did it suddenly seem like they were all in serious danger, from something other than the ghost?

“ Now !”

All three men jumped into a dead run, arms and legs pumping for the trees. Dean wove around the first trunk he came to, momentarily losing sight of Sam. As he glanced back over his shoulder, he was just in time to catch a glimpse of Owen vaulting a fallen tree. The raptors were gone.

“Owen-” he began, intending to call the man’s attention to this fact

“ Shut up! ” came the hissed reply.

Sam leapt over a small hillock and overtook his brother. In the gathering darkness, Dean caught a glimpse of white knuckles clenched tight around the sawed-off his brother was carrying. A fresh shot of adrenaline flooded his synapses as he heard a raptor cough some distance to his left. They were surrounding the humans.

“Kill zone,” Owen gasped, but the words meant nothing to Dean.

In a few seconds they’d cleared the trees and were able to pick up speed, racing toward the bunker, and safety. The elder Winchester was shocked to see it unguarded. Maybe they would make it.

The first to reach the door was Sam, who flung it open and waited. Dean skidded to a halt on the opposite side and turned to find Owen. The man was a few paces away. He hadn't quite reached the Winchesters when they had started running.

“Close it!” he bellowed, then the brothers saw his eyes dart up, above their heads.

Two streaks of movement, so fast Dean could barely make anything out in the gloom, shot across his vision. He blinked and saw Owen, half crouched in front of Sam, his right arm raised. As his eyes traveled up the blond man’s limb, it encountered the blood, then the teeth, and finally the paralyzingly furious eyes of Blue. There was a sickening crunching sound as her eyes moved down to Owen’s face.

“It wasn't...” he tried, through gritted teeth, to get a few words out. “...me.”

Blue hesitated, her eyes traveled the group of humans. Then she dropped the arm and retreated, calling to her sisters. In seconds they were gone.

For a stunned half second, none of the men moved. Then Dean darted forward, one arm automatically coming around Owen’s back as his eyes moved to Sam. The younger brother was watching the night, one hand on the door, and the bolt. Dean supported Owen into the safety.

The ex-navy man’s entire body was shaking, his eyes were fixed and staring. Blood gushed from the mess of a wound on his arm, but nothing was spurting so that was good, at least.

“Little... Shit,” he muttered.

With care, Dean steered Owen into his bedroom and onto his bed. Turning, he returned to the entrance just as Sam was double-checking the bolt was securely fastened. They exchanged worried glances and moved back to the raptor trainer.

The wound now dripping on the floor was half covered by Owen’s other hand. His breathing was sharp and obviously shallow. His eyes were closed and his face was pinched.

“Salt everything,” Dean said to his brother, then moved to bend over the injured man. “Owen. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he managed, opening his eyes and looking up at the hunter.

Gently moving the protective hand, Dean wasn’t able to see any bones and breathed a sigh of relief. He retrieved a bandage from his duffle and flicked it open with one hand. Pressing it to the worst of the teeth-marks, he wrapped the arm tightly, just as he’d seen John do countless times. Owen sucked in and held a breath to keep himself from making any noise. The outlying punctures were obviously shallow, Dean saw.

“Damn,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “I wish Cas was here.”

“Who’s... Cas?” Owen managed, even smiling slightly.

“We can’t call him for every scratch,” Sam commented, coming back into the bedroom.

“He’s... A friend of ours,” Dean said, knowing these few words didn’t do the angel justice. “Yeah, I know,” he snapped at his brother, lifting Owen’s arm and turning. “But God only knows what shit was on those teeth. Out here he could die in a week from infection. I gotta wait for the bleeding to stop before I clean this mess.”

“Been in worse scrapes than this,” Owen grunted from the bed.

“Did you take care of everything?”

Sam nodded.

“Yes. So what now?” He asked as Dean kept Owen’s injured arm up and away from his body.

“Bring me a chair and two more blankets,” Dean said, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

The younger Winchester obeyed and watched his brother elevate Owen’s arm and sling it to the back of the chair.

“Sit.”

Shaking his head, Sam sank onto the chair.

“How do you feel?” Dean asked, turning back to Owen.

“Like my arm got caught in a... Raptor-garbage-disposal,” he said, eyes closed.

“Dean.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s the plan?”

Folding both new blankets into a pile, Dean lifted Owen’s feet onto them. Then, still not looking at Sam, he spread the blanket from Owen’s bed across the man’s form. The ex-navy man had begun to shiver.

“Who trained you?” Asked Owen, and Dean was pleased with the mental awareness this question indicated.

“My dad,” he said. “He was in the marines.”

“Jarhead, huh,” Owen almost smiled again. “Those bastards always were good in a tight spot.”

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice low, commanding. “Can I speak with you, outside?”

With one last appraising look at Owen, Dean marched out of the room and closed the door behind his brother. When they were in the entryway, he held up a hand.

“I know,” Dean said, wearily. “I know. We need to move. They’ll be surrounding us. I just don’t understand what the hell happened. And that prehistoric nightmare is still out there. Our top priority is him.”

“Fine,” said Sam. “But we should press the advantage. The raptors should be in disarray right now and we have ectoplasm to work from. That clearly indicates spiritual rage. The why doesn’t matter.”

“Actually, it does,” said Owen, rounding the corner. His face was drained of all color and he was cradling his arm close to his chest.

“You should be lying down,” Dean protested. “You lost-”

“You don’t think I know that?” Owen snapped, then closed his eyes and leant against the nearest wall. “It was eggs.”

“What?” The brothers asked, in unison.

“Eggs,” he repeated, opening his eyes. “A long way back, even though the scientists created all females, some of the animals bred. The gene mutated to be male. One of my raptors is a dude and all four of them think you two smashed their eggs.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“So they’re gunning for  us now?” Sam said, finally.

“This was meant for you,” Owen returned, sarcastically raising his perforated arm.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“And you're wrong,” Owen said, looking at Sam. “They’ll be organized by now. It takes them seconds to regroup. We've got no chance in the dark. Our only chance... Your only chance is to wait the night out, then see if I can convince them not to make paté out of your chiseled faces.”

The Winchesters exchanged a brief and uncomfortable glance.

#

The three men spent the night in a state of mild tension, aggravated by the fact that none of them had anything to do, and they weren’t at all tired. Owen took a few pills he had leftover from when the island was a theme park and all three of them had a glass or two of the mysterious bottle. Dean continued to monitor Owen’s condition until Sam reported he could see the sun rising through a crack around an east-facing door.

The bleeding from Owen’s arm had stopped and the ex-navy man stood up, staggered slightly, and headed for the door.

“We need to take care of that wound,” Dean said, moving to intercept the raptor trainer.

“You know as well as me that if I don't get to a hospital I'm dead anyway,” he replied. “And that is not happening unless I can make peace with those herpetological teenagers out there.”

Frowning, Dean reluctantly stood aside and nodded to Sam to slide the bolt. Slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, Sam did so. Owen strode out into the golden morning light and the elder Winchester noticed a marked absence of raptors.

 

Standing tall, staring around the clearing without any outward sign of fear, Owen used his good arm to click his small training device. There was a moment of silent stillness that seemed to Dean to stretch on forever.


	7. Chapter 7

After a short while, slowly, a raptor faded out of the undergrowth, then another. Soon three of them were creeping toward the clicking, their eyes fixed on Owen, their head lowered. If Dean hadn't known better, he'd have said they were scared.

“What's wrong?” Owen asked, his voice gentle. He made a move to approach them, but they skittered back. “Ok,” he said, his voice lower, calming. “It's ok. What's going on?”

A raptor Dean thought he recognized as Delta moved hesitantly forward. Her head was still lowered, but she approached Owen. When she was near enough for him to touch, she stopped, as if waiting. Slowly, ready to jerk it away at the slightest hint of movement, he raised his injured arm and stroked her head. She gave a slight sound and closed her eyes.

“They’re scared,” Owen said, surprise and concern showing in his voice, but he didn't look back at the Winchesters. “But... I think they’re on our side again. Walk closer, slowly...”

The brothers exchanged a look.

“Uh,” Dean began. “Not to be difficult or anything but... What kind of guarantee are you giving us they won't... Slash our guts out?”

“You’d be dead already,” said Owen, dryly. “That good enough for you?”

Feeling slightly sheepish, despite the dire situation, Dean took a step forward. When none of the raptors moved, he took another step, Sam moving beside him. He approached the raptor to Owen’s left.

“Stop there,” Owen said, arresting Dean’s movement. “Make her come to you.”

“How?” Dean asked, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure.

“Look straight at her,” Owen said, never moving his gaze from the frightened creature before him. “And tell her. Like you'd tell your brother when he was little.”

“You! Um...” Dean began, his commanding tone only slightly marred by the hesitation.

“Charlie,” hissed Owen.

“Charlie,” Dean said, feeling very foolish. “Get over here.”

Raising her gaze to him, Charlie considered the tall human for a moment. When she began to move, it was with the barest hint of a glance toward Owen. Dean wasn't sure if he felt proud he'd made the creature move, or sorry.

“Tell her she's a good girl,” Owen instructed, moving his injured hand to scratch behind Delta’s ear panels.

“You're... Dammit-I-feel-stupid... A good girl, Charlie,” Dean said, reaching forward to imitate Owen’s motions.

There was a slight chuckle from behind them.

“What's so funny?” Dean demanded, not looking around at his brother.

Moving slightly forward, Sam looked across at the remaining raptor and cleared his throat.

“Echo, come here,” he said, raising a hand. “Nothing,” he added, to his brother. “It's just... This is the most bizarre crossover I've ever heard of.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re being taught to handle these very dangerous creatures,” he said, as Echo approached him. “And we’re a bit scared and we have to maintain eye contact. It's like Harry Potter with the hippogriffs and How to Train Your Dragon.”

There was silence from the other two men and Sam shrugged.

“Hang on,” said Dean, after a moment of man communing with reptile. “There are only three here.”

“I know,” said Owen, his voice low. “I think Blue is still holding a grudge.”

“As in,” Sam began, slowly. “She's still hunting us?”

“We can't know for sure,” Owen replied. “But I'd say it's a pretty safe bet at this point.”

“Do you think we’ve done enough cuddling now?” Dean asked, the seriousness in his voice not acknowledging the content of his words. “We need to deal with the abominable snow-dino and make tracks.”

“The Indominus,” corrected Owen.

“Whatever,” said Dean, turning toward Owen. “I know you care about them but-”

Dean’s words were cut off mid-sentence as he stiffened in fear. He turned, very slowly, to see Delta’s nose pointing at him. She had nudged him in the back, again, and was now eyeing him with that reproachful look he usually associated with dogs.

“...we have to save your life first,” he finished, one hand rising to resume the scratching. Delta grunted contentedly.

“All right,” Owen said, a trace of reluctance in his voice. “All right, you guys. Away!”

At these commanding words, all three raptors looked up from their humans and wheeled away in unison. They reformed in an arrow, surrounding Delta and looked expectantly at Owen. He clicked the device in his hand and nodded off toward the trees. The squad made a swift and silent dash for the trees and were gone.

“They’re set on patrol,” he said. “Anything comes looking to chew on us, they’ll stop them.”

“I've never had my own escort before,” quipped Dean, rolling one shoulder in an attitude of tension. “Where to now? Back in the bunker?”

“No, we should investigate while we have the light,” replied Owen.

“Investigate what?” asked Sam.

#

Half an hour later they emerged onto the helipad. It had been a tense journey, but Dean more or less trusted three raptors to take down the fourth. His concerns mainly lay in the animals’ loyalty and which way they would bend if tested.

“Nobody’s home,” Dean observed, looking around as the three men spread out across the asphalt.

Owen frowned as he gazed around. The helipad was just as it had always been, free of dung, but with piles of bones scattered around. The smell of rotting flesh hung in the air. There was indisputably no sign of the tyrannosaurus, however.

“Maybe it's gone for a walk?” Sam posited, holding his gun close to his chest as he, too, looked around at the nest.

“Nah,” Owen replied, moving toward the edge of the platform. “She's a lazy old bird. She's almost always-”

The Winchesters heads whipped around to look at Owen as his words cut off suddenly. He was standing, perfectly still, gazing down off the platform. His mouth had shut with a snap and his face was twisted into a mask of anger and pain.

He turned away as the brothers galloped up. Below them, after a drop of over two hundred feet, was the tyrannosaurus rex. Her body lay in a massive pool of blood, crumpled and unmoving. Dean turned to see Owen striding away, his gait taught and fast.

“Hey,” the elder Winchester tried, moving to catch up with the over-emotional raptor trainer. “You said she was old, right? Isn't this-” his voice cut off as his boot slipped on something.

Looking down, Dean almost didn't catch it. Then when he moved his head, it caught the light.

“Sammy,” Dean muttered and pointed at his foot as the younger hunter approached.

There, clinging to Dean’s boot, the same color as the asphalt, was a smear of ectoplasm. Sam's face turned grim as his older brother tried to wipe it off as best he could, then both of them moved toward Owen. He had a considerable head start and it took them a few minutes to catch up with his angry strides.

“Owen,” Dean tried, but the other man kept moving. “Owen, stop!”

“No,” said the former navy-man, turning. His face was dry, but there was pain in his eyes. “I'm not going to stop until that  thing is dead.  Again !”

“Nobody here is arguing with that,” Sam said, his voice gentle with compassion. “But we need a plan and you need some food to keep you on your feet. Let's go back to the bunker.”

“But-!” Owen began, but Dean could hear his resolve for this suicidally reckless plan crumbling.

“No,” the elder hunter cut across his words. “That wasn't a suggestion. Move.”

With a grimly set jaw, and eyes flashing anger everywhere, Owen turned and marched back into the jungle, the Winchesters following. The early morning trees should have been filled with the chatter and squawk of life, Dean knew, and the absence of any such noise made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Watching the raptor trainer’s shoulders heave with emotion, Dean wondered if he would be any use at all in the event of an attack. Their steps echoed far too loudly in the muffled jungle environment. The elder Winchester glanced around for a comforting glimpse of a scale or slit-pupiled eye, but there was none. Either the raptors had abandoned them, or they were further off.

Suddenly, Sam set a hand on his brother’s shoulder and Dean almost shot him out of nerves. Neither of them spoke, but the taller man managed to direct his brother’s attention behind them. On the path they had just chosen was Blue, regarding them with a reptilian expression Dean couldn't read. He turned to indicate this to Owen but by the time the three of them looked back around, the raptor had vanished.

The ex-navy man cursed and shook his head, then started down the path again. The Winchesters exchanged looks and followed him. It was clear nothing could be done, but Dean’s nerves redoubled and he felt a rush of gratitude the minute the bunker came into sight around a bend in the path.

Blue was standing in front of the door.

Dean froze and looked to Owen. He felt trapped, like a rat in a maze. Were there any other secure places to hide? He doubted it. Panic began to seize up his mind. Behind him, he heard his brother's breathing catch.

There was a gentle sigh from Owen. Dean couldn't see the raptor trainer’s face, but he thought he sensed a great sadness descend on the man. Before it had been anger, fear, even rage. Now blackness seemed to drag his shoulders down and when he moved forward, it was with the resigned tread of someone approaching the noose.

Looking around frantically, Dean tried to find a raptor to defend them. Surely they must have seen this obvious threat to the fragile humans? He could see no shining scale or twitching claw, however.

Before Dean could stop him, Owen was moving forward. Even if he'd been able to halt the blond man’s motion, there would have been no point. His steady stride quickly became a run. Then he was charging at the animal. Blue stared at Owen, lowering her head, bracing for the impact, but showed no signs of intending to move.

“Playing chicken with a raptor,” Dean hissed, staring in horrified fascination.

The raptor bared her teeth and raised both clawed front legs as Owen rushed in, then, at the last second, there was a flash of movement from the trees. One confused moment later the human had cleared the spot where Blue had been standing, and slowed, turning to figure out where she’d gone.

Blue had been borne to the ground under the weight of another raptor Dean couldn’t identify. The two struggled, but slightly feebly, as though they’d been stunned by the combined blow. Either that or neither was inclined to seriously injure the other.

The raptor who had saved Owen managed to rise to its hind legs and gave a shrill call. She stared at the human who blinked and shook himself.

“Quick!” He called to the Winchesters, who lost no time in sprinting past the pair of dinosaurs.

By the time they reached the bunker Blue was on her feet, but Owen had the door open. All three humans barreled inside and then stood, panting, staring at one another.

“Holy shit,” came an unexpected curse from Sam, who reached up to wipe his furrowed brow.

“She didn’t want to hurt Blue,” Owen said, and Dean noticed a faint note of hope in his voice. “They aren’t enemies... Yet.”

“Is that gonna change?” The elder Winchester asked, fearful of the answer.

“I honestly have no clue,” Owen said, wearily, moving toward the table and sinking into the chair.

Looking down at the bandaged arm their host laid on the table, Sam wordlessly disappeared toward their duffels. When he returned with gauze he nodded toward the limb.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I wish I could see out of this place,” Owen moaned, ignoring Sam and his medical help. “They could be in a battle royale right now and I’m sitting here.”

“Three against one,” Dean reasoned, with a shrug. “We’ll be safe either way once it’s done.”

“You son of a bitch!” Owen yelled, rounding on the hunter. “They aren’t just mindless animals! They’re my friends. Better friends than most humans have been. That’s why I ran at Blue. I wanted to try and force her to choose. I knew she’d make the right decision in the end. But Delta didn’t understand...”

 

Looking up slowly, Dean caught Sam’s eye and the two exchanged a silent thought: Owen was losing his grip on reality.


	8. Chapter 8

“Ok,” Sam said, calmly, sitting down beside the raptor trainer. “I understand you care about them. But right now you need to worry about yourself. You can’t deal with much more blood loss at this point. And you need to eat. Remember your training. You know all of this.”

Owen’s breath came in sharp gasps for a second as he looked at the tall man. Then, slowly, he nodded and sat down.

“Great,” Dean grunted, turning his attention to the small kitchen. “Where do you keep everything?”

While Sam began redressing his wounds, Owen guided Dean around the kitchen. He heated some canned beans and slapped them into a bowl. Placing one in front of Owen, he jerked his head over his shoulder, an invitation to his brother. Sam shook his head and Dean sat down. Neither of them were very hungry.

“It ain't gourmet,” Dean commented after a moment when Owen had yet to even look at the food. “But it’ll keep you going.”

Glaring, the ex-navy man began eating his food, as if he bore a singular grudge against every single bean. This effort was hindered by the fact that he had to eat left-handed as Sam worked on his injured right.

“Done,” the younger Winchester declared, gently patting flat the last piece of tape. “It's not improving but I got the bleeding stopped.”

“No surprise there,” Owen returned, mouth full of beans. “So what now?”

“The spook killed a Tyrannosaurus rex,” Dean stated, looking thoughtful. “That’s not great for us. It means every time we encountered it we were lucky to escape alive.”

“Uh-huh,” Owen grunted. “Anything new you'd like to lay on us? I  know we should be dead.”

“Hey,” Dean said, throwing up his hands and sitting back. “You wanna run this hunt? Fine by me. Let me know how long you last against that monster with a crippled wing.”

“Dean...” Sam warned, his eyes pleading with his brother to stop.

Dean ignored him.

“You're right,” Owen admitted, and Dean stopped talking out of shock. “You're right. I don't know anything about ghosts. Go ahead. What should we be doing?”

“Uh,” Dean began. “Well, it's only gaining momentum now. What we really have to do is burn the bones. Where did it eventually go down?”

“Oh,” Owen said, his face falling with his gaze. “Well...”

“What?” The brothers asked, in unison.

“The mosasaurs got it in the end,” Owen said, staring into space.

“Ok, so, where is the Moses-saur cage?” Dean asked, impatience showing in his face and voice.

“It wasn't a cage,” Owen corrected. “It was a tank. When the island was abandoned it died because the system broke down. The bodies are lying at the bottom of a giant tank of green water.”

“Shit,” Dean said, turning away, the hand resting on the table clenching into a fist.

“Yeah,” said Owen. “What's plan B?”

A long silence began between the three men. Sam’s gaze fell as he thought and Dean ran his memory over the past cases they’d worked that required a non-traditional approach.

“The Dino didn't happen to have a truck, did it?”

Owen looked up at Dean with a frown, but before he could answer Sam had waved him into silence.

“Very funny, Dean,” the younger brother said, without a trace of humor.

“Concrete,” Dean muttered, falling to back into his reverie.

“Wait!” Sam blurted out, startling the other two men, his face shining with excitement. “Oh, no, never mind. I was going to say the water in the tank is likely salt but... You still have a ghost so digestion plus salt apparently isn't enough.”

“I guess it was never going to be easy,” Owen mused.

“Never is,” Dean nodded, a wry smile on his face.

The silence continued. Dean rose after a moment to begin pacing the small room. His boots made slow, rhythmic sounds against the metal floor.

“Hang on,” Sam said, again, frowning and pointing at his brother.

“What?” Dean asked, his tone sharper than he had meant in the path of his impatience.

“What if salt water plus digestion  is enough?”

“That'd be nice,” Dean began, “but obviously-”

“No!” Sam grinned, wagging his finger at Dean. “What if it is and  something else  is anchoring it?”

“Of course!” Dean said, smacking himself on the forehead. “I'm an idiot, it's so obvious...”

“What?!” Owen demanded, looking from one brother to the other.

“Every spirit has an anchor,” Sam spoke quickly, the end coming into sight for him. “Usually it's the body and you dig it up and salt and burn it. But sometimes the body was cremated and you have to get more creative.”

“It can be anything with DNA,” Dean continued, coming to sit back down on his chair. “Hair, skin cells, even a toenail.”

“And sometimes there's no DNA,” Sam said, picking up on the thread. “Sometimes the emotion is strong enough that the spirit is anchored by something else. Revenge, justice, love...”

“Ok, hang on, hang on,” Owen said, wedging himself into the conversation, waving his good left arm. “What does all this mean for the Indominus?”

“It means we don't have to burn the bones,” Dean said.

“And it means it’s being anchored by something else,” Sam finished.

“What?” Owen asked.

The brothers looked at each other, their expressions falling. Dean sighed heavily as Sam turned back to their host.

“We were hoping you could tell us,” he said. “Could it be dung?”

“Oh that sounds like fun,” said Dean, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Burning a pile of Dino shit. Let's go!”

“Dean,” Sam began, but he stopped as Owen shook his head.

“I don't know that much about ghosts,” he said, slowly. “But it's been six months. It would have been rained on and decomposed.”

“Shit.”

“What else, then?” Sam asked, turning to Owen and pointedly ignoring his brother.

Another silence welled up, choking the three men. Each sat in a similar attitude of consternated thought.

“We've gotta leave,” Dean said at length, the words coming slowly from him, as if he had to force himself to say them.

Sitting up straighter, Sam turned to regard his brother with concerned surprise.

“No,” Owen said, predictably, his face set into grim lines. “I've already told you I'm not leaving-”

“Leaving the overgrown lizards?!” Dean boomed out, incredulously. “Leaving your own personal Dagobah swamp where you can hide from the world and all your problems? Whatever you say, you will die here. It doesn't matter if it's now or later. But we can't fight that thing, so the smart money's on sooner. I don't wanna walk away any more than you do. But if you don't, you'll die.”

“I feel like we've had this conversation already,” Owen muttered, not looking at Dean’s angry face.

“And we’ll have it as many times as it takes to get you out of here,” Sam said, his voice low and gentle.

“Fine,” Owen said, finally raising his head, and looking Dean squarely in the eyes. “I'll go. But we can't leave until the raptor battle’s over.”

“Any chance it would have ended by now?” Dean asked, rising and moving toward the door.

“Could be,” he said, shrugging. “Better safe than... Eviscerated.”

“Words to live by,” Dean said, with the faintest hint of a smile.

“How long can we afford to wait?” Sam said, no trace of a smile on his face, the lines taut and strained.

“Long enough to improve the condition of this arm?” Owen asked, hopefully.

“Fine,” Sam said, his words clipped and his mouth a straight line. “How much clean water do you have in here?”

#

The brothers gathered together some more advanced medical supplies, as well as the small amount of water Owen stored in the bunker, and Sam set to work on the raptor trainer’s arm. Dean shared swigs of a bottle with him and due to his forced inactivity began to think.

Owen’s reasoning for certain things had been just a touch too flawed for his liking. He was so volatile, however, that Dean hadn't considered arguing any further. He preferred not to argue with crazy people.

Carefully, and gingerly, Sam peeled his latest dressing from Owen’s arm and cringed. The flesh had puffed up around the puncture wounds and the site was a red and white nightmare. First he cleaned away all the visible pus, then set to work with the syringe. Owen gripped the table hard and the muscles on his jaw stood out as he fought the pain.

Dean pushed the bottle over toward Owen and he took a swig. This was the only sign of compassion Dean showed the agonized man. Hunters typically didn't feel very sympathetic toward ordinary, natural suffering.

It took Sam some time to clear the obviously infected injury and by the time he'd finished, almost all the water was gone and they’d used up every scrap of cloth in the bunker as swabs. Owen sat back in his chair, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths. He clutched the arm to him, covered lightly in a bandana and closed his eyes.

“Don't get too comfy,” Dean warned, catching his brother's eye as he spoke.

“I'm not comfy,” Owen returned, without opening his eyes. “Don't you worry about that.”

“Dean means it's not over yet,” Sam said.

The younger Winchester stood and moved to the stove, turning on the flame. Then he reached for a drawer, rummaging around in the cutlery for something.

“You want me to do it?” Dean offered, glancing back at the taller man.

“I'll keep playing nursemaid,” Sam said, a slight smile finding its way to his face.

“What are you...” Owen began, then his eyes moved from the stove to Sam. “Oh.”

“Yep,” Dean said, but his voice rang with sympathy.

“Damn that scaly bitch,” Owen muttered, weakly and Dean chuckled.

“That's the spirit,” he replied, sarcasm edging his words.

Silently, Sam held a steak knife in the blue flame of the camp stove. All three men waited, staring at the blade. When the metal began to turn a bright red, Sam shut off the stove and turned toward Owen, his face set grimly. He sat beside the injured man and moved to grab Owen’s arm.

“Do it,” came the terse order and Owen’s breath came in shallow hisses.

Closing his hand over Owen’s clenched fist to steady the arm, Sam paused for a breath, then lowered the hot knife.

Dean was deeply impressed by how long the raptor trainer held out without screaming. His jaw and forehead bulged with taut muscles and his eyes watered. The stink of burned flesh rose with a few thin wisps of smoke and Sam relented, pulling his arm away to allow Owen a break.

The ex-navy man fell back in his chair, panting and cursing raggedly. Sam’s eyes followed his agonized movements with concern.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked, softly.

“No,” came the rasping reply and Owen’s eyes snapped open. “Been through... Worse than this...”

Exchanging a brief look with Dean, Sam sighed. While Owen regained his breath, he reheated the knife at the stove. The raptor trainer took a shaky swig of the bottle.

Then the tall man sat back down, across from Owen and resumed his work. This time Owen gave a grunt that escaped his tightly clenched teeth. His head jerked back and his entire hand, gripping the table, was white from the effort.

This nerve-wrenching cycle was repeated until Owen’s arm was a red and steaming mass. He had reluctantly asked for a reprieve near the end, and Sam readily agreed. Finishing the job had been the hardest on Owen, and Dean worried for a few minutes he might pass out. The ex-navy man was tough, however, and when it was finished he barely acknowledged Sam’s dressing of the wounds.

“Now you need to sleep,” Sam said firmly, wrapping the knife in a cloth to muffle the smell.

“No arguments here,” came Owen’s reply, his words slurred with fatigue and the bottle. “If I can fall asleep...”

“Drink,” Dean said, moving the bottle back toward him.

“Not too much,” Sam warned. “It would be dangerous for you to lose consciousness.”

Waving an answer, Owen stumbled into his sleeping area and disappeared from view. Sam cleaned his hands as best he could and came to sit across from Dean at the table.

“Now what?” Dean asked, rhetorically, tapping the fingers of his right hand on the table top.

Silently, Sam nodded and sat back.

“What else could be holding it here?” Dean continued. “Pure rage? Moon cycle? I'll take any explanation at this point.”

“Maybe it's like that lady being chased by the farmer, Greely,” Sam posited. “No remains in that case, she just had to be convinced to move on.”

“Awesome,” returned Dean. “You go have a heart-to-heart with that monster and let me know how it goes.”

 

Sighing, Sam ignored his brother and sunk back into thought.


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning Owen woke from a fitful sleep to discover his guests hadn't even moved from the kitchen.

“How're you doing?” Sam asked immediately, rising from his chair to examine the injured arm.

“Better, I think,” Owen said. He sounded distracted and glanced toward the door out of the bunker. “Did you-?”

“No,” Dean cut in, defensively. “What do you think we are? Morons?”

Except for a slight intake of air from Sam’s examination, Owen remained silent.

“You aren't losing blood anymore,” the tall man said, standing straight once again. “But you still need to get off this island.”

“Neither of you had any inspirations on how to kill the Indominus during the night?” Owen asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“No,” Dean said, a touch harshly. “And now it's important we stay on track.”

Frowning, Owen looked as though he was about to argue, then fell silent. Moving forward to sit at the small table, he stared into space.

“Is there anything you need to take from here?” Sam asked, and received no response from the blonde man. “Owen?”

The raptor trainer remained still, but his eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

“Tracker!”

“What?” The brothers asked together, both looking with deep concern at Owen.

“That's how it's... What did you call it?” He said, growing excited, turning to look at the Winchesters. “Anchored? It's the tracker!”

“What tracker?” Sam asked.

“If this is a ploy-” Dean began, but Owen interrupted him.

“No! It's the only answer,” he gestured wildly with his uninjured arm, stood up, and began to pace the bunker. “When it first escaped, it clawed out its tracking device. There was a hunk of meat still clinging to it. Any creature on this island knows the smell and would know better than to go near it. Even after 6 months there’s probably scales left.”

“Ok,” said Dean, sounding skeptical. “So how can you track it?”

“We need to get to the control room,” he said.

“And where is that?” Sam asked.

“Not far,” Owen shrugged. “It's in the middle of the park, underground.”

“Fine,” Dean said, his jaw tightening as he pointed to one of the chairs. “You, stay here.”

“My ass.”

“No! We’ll take this one. You stay here and cuddle in a blankie.”

“Dean...” Sam began, but Owen interrupted him.

“I don't care if one of those oversized chickens does eat the rest of my arm,” Owen said, moving to glare into Dean’s face. “I'm going with you. If you wanna stop me, you need to shoot me.”

“Awesome,” Dean spat. “Fan-freakin’-tastic. Let's get this suicide pact rolling then.”

The three men assembled their arms and gathered by the bunker door.

“Ready?” said Sam, one hand on the bolt. He looked first to Owen, then moved his gaze to glance significantly at Dean for a moment.

Rolling his eyes, Dean nodded acquiescence.

Owen shifted impatiently from one foot to the other but remained silent.

With a quick jerk, Sam unbolted the door and sunlight streamed in. Dean blinked in the bright light and gazed around. Four raptors were just rising from a huddle on the ground.

“They were sleeping in a pile,” Dean said, incredulously. “Like kittens.”

Shushing his brother, San watched as Owen approached the animals. He moved slowly, in a non-threatening stance. As the raptors regained their feet, every eye was on him. For a moment it looked as though he meant to move in to scratch their scales, then he hesitated. One hand went into his pocket, all eight raptor eyes following the move, then it came out with a flash of metal.

“No-” Dean barely got out the word when Sam clamped a hand over his mouth, the other hand grabbing one arm roughly.

“Shut up,” he hissed in his elder brother’s ear. “He's not attacking them.”

There was a sharp click and all four reptilian heads tilted. Another click and Owen held his good arm high.

“Form ranks,” he said, trying through his weariness and pain to sound commanding.

The animals hesitated, looking from Owen to Blue, who remained staring at their human leader. Then, with a flash of scales, she wheeled around, followed by her troop, and formed up in a tight arrow.

“Holy crap,” Dean breathed, eyes wide, taking in the miraculous sight.

“Eyes up!” Owen called, voice cracking with pain.

The raptors obeyed, looking up high, to the hand that held the clicker.

“And... Go!” He almost shouted, the pain in his voice more pronounced.

The raptors sped away, into the brush, and the brothers approached their trainer. As they neared him, they could see it was not pain that had shaken the blonde man’s voice. One tear had made a track down his face.

“We’re safe,” he said, with a slight smile. “Let's get that tracker.”

Nodding, Dean motioned for Owen to lead the way and the brothers flanked him, heading into the jungle.

“It's not far,” Owen said after a few minutes trek. “This will be over soon.”

“You had to say that,” Dean groaned. “Now we’re jinxed. It was nice knowing you.”

In spite of his fatigue and pain, Owen turned to Dean, and laughed, shaking his head.

“Let's stay focused,” Sam advised, bringing up the rear as they entered the jungle.

A hiss of leaves on scales sounded to left and right as they moved through the trees. It was a comforting sound to the Winchesters now. Owen picked a trail through the jungle, pointing out broken tree trunks and deeply cut tire treads that could still be seen months after the incident. As they moved forward, Dean noticed the sound of a living jungle began to diminish.

“Just over that ridge,” Owen said, and Dean flicked his hand, ordering silence.

The jungle had gone deathly quiet.

“Where are the raptors?” Dean asked, a slight tremor to his hushed voice.

Silently, Owen indicated the positioning of the raptors to his hunter friend as they crested the slight rise and looked down.

It was a scene of obvious violence, though some of time ago. The months since had allowed the jungle to reclaim some of its own, but the gashes in trees and ground were still visible. In the center of the small clearing wound a small creek.

Scanning the clearing from their semi-hidden spot on the hill, Dean tried to pick out any flash of metal. Owen was beside him, doing the same. Turning his back to the other two men, Sam guarded the rear, gun held to his ribs, and ready.

“Gonna have to go down and search,” Owen murmured at length, glancing sideways at Dean, who nodded.

Reaching back, Dean yanked on his brother’s tee shirt and moved forward with Owen. Sam felt the signal and followed, slowly, walking backward.

There wasn't a sign of the raptors as the men descended into the eerily silent clearing. After a few moments of visual sweep, Dean and Owen cautiously moved apart. Turning, Sam continued to scan, gun at the ready.

Dean bent double and brushed through leaves and vines, looking for anything that resembled metal. A few paces away, Owen stood and tried to visualize the carnage he had witnessed through cameras. He pointed vaguely in one direction, then another.

“I think it was in the middle,” he said, at last, in a hushed voice. “Near where those vines are growing back.”

He moved to converge on the spot he had mentioned with Dean. Both bent double, they started the search again, Owen even digging a few inches under the leaves covering the ground.

“We need a metal detector,” Dean grumbled, straightening and stretching his sore back. Turning, he glanced back toward Sam.

To where Sam had been.

“I swear it was around-”

“Sam!”

Looking up, Owen saw Dean charging for the ridge they had just left. Something was clearly amiss and a raptor head poked out from the bushes to watch as the man ran by. She chirped and looked back at Owen, head cocked to one side.

“Find Sam,” Owen murmured at the animal as he rushed after Dean. A hiss of leaves on scales told him she had obeyed the instructions. “Dean!”

The elder Winchester was abreast the ridge, looking down at a patch of blackness that was oozing down a fallen tree. He turned, eyes barely concealing panic, as the raptor trainer caught up with him.

“Where'd he go?”

“You tell me!” Dean shouted. “It’s the spook again. He's got Sam.”

“I sent Charlie to look for him,” Owen said. “She's the best tracker.”

“Where would it take him?” Dean said, rubbing a hand across his face and staring around.

Frowning, Owen tried to think.

“It seems to have free range of the island,” he reasoned. “But I-”

Charlie interrupted with a chirruping from the nearest bushes.

“She's found him,” said the raptor trainer.

“Well? Little Timmy isn't gonna rescue himself from the well!” Dean said, beginning to move off in the direction the raptor had come from.

“It's trying to lure us away from the tracker!” Owen said, voice cracking from pain and fatigue.

“Well it's gonna work,” Dean spat over his shoulder. “I'm going to get my brother. You stay here and keep looking for that damn thing.”

“I’ll send two of the raptors with you,” Owen called, but Dean was already disappearing into the brush.

The raptor trainer clicked his tongue and Dean heard the now familiar rushing sound of two dinosaurs moving off after him.

Ignoring the mounting heat and humidity, the hunter jogged between the trees, eyes raking the environment for signs of the passage of a giant spectral scaly dog, and his brother, the chew toy.

Charlie took the lead, with Dean reluctantly following. Echo hovered around the obviously concerned human for a few steps before she was told, in no uncertain terms, that she should move on.

“Woah! Stop!” Dean called, halting his charge and turning his head in all directions to catch the sound he'd heard, again.

It came once more, even more faintly than the first time. Unmistakably a human voice, but Dean was hard pressed to tell if it were communicative or a cry of distress. The two raptors spun to cock their heads at him, glancing at each other in confusion. Then they heard the voice and sped off.

“Dammit, wait!” Dean yelled, jumping into a dead run after them. He wove in and out of trees as the voice morphed into that of his brother and it became clear it was distress.

The raptors and the man burst through a curtain of vines and finally caught sight of Sam and the Indominus. It was dragging Sam by one leg, where, Dean didn't like to guess. Raising his gun, the elder Winchester shouted a warning to his brother and fired at the specter. It gave a shriek of rage and vanished, dropping Sam heavily to the ground.

Dean sprinted to his fallen brother. Sam’s left leg was bleeding badly, but his eyes were open and he smiled wryly up at the other man.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice breathless with suppressed pain.

“Shut up,” Dean said curtly, applying pressure to the wounds. “Damn this whole island to hell.”

A rumbling roar began on the edge of hearing. As it grew in intensity, Sam’s eyes widened and he shoved Dean’s hand away.

“It’s coming back,” he shouted.

Reluctantly, Dean picked up his gun and stood, turning toward the roar, which was now nearing deafening levels. The shadows rippled as the Indominus appeared, mouth gaping, revealing dozens of spectral fangs. Dean raised his shotgun as it dashed in for a charge, but before he could fire he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Charlie, followed swiftly by Echo from the opposite side, leapt, all four viciously-clawed feet extended, for the Indominus. A look of reptilian surprise crossed their faces as they sailed in an elegant arch right through the monster. They slid to a halt on opposite sides and chirruped in confusion to each other.

Watching the dinosaur ballet distracted Dean for a crucial few seconds. Taking no notice of the two raptors, the Indominus came on. It raised a semi-transparent arm and Dean only just managed to pull Sam out of the way before it sliced into them.

Cursing, the elder Winchester yanked his brother to a standing position while the ghost turned for another pass. The taller man pulled an arm across his brother’s broad shoulders and they made slow progress toward the trees. The injured Winchester tried to swat vines and foliage out of their way.

Crashing behind the brothers told Dean they would soon be in the fight again.

“Come on,” he muttered, through gritted teeth.

Raptor calls came from either side and a glance to his right showed a flash of scales to the beleaguered hunter. The next second both men were blinded by sunlight and froze, disoriented and lost. As his vision returned, Dean squinted and saw they had emerged on the beach.

“Yes,” he muttered, trying to pick up the pace.

“Dean, what are you-” Sam began before his brother’s plan became clear to him.

“It's probably stupid but it's all we've got,” said Dean, then turned his head. “Into the water! Echo! Charlie!”

The raptors sped out of the trees a split second ahead of the ghost. They zeroed in on Dean and dashed toward him, much faster than the lumbering Indominus. Waving his gun frantically, Dean tried to communicate with them. Charlie glanced over a shoulder and gave a warning cough.

“Get! In! The-! Oh never mind. Hold your breath,” Dean shouted and turned, flinging his brother with all his strength into the shallow ocean.

Sam hit the water and generated a splash that encompassed his brother. The raptors, however, seemed reluctant, even with the monster behind them, to enter.

“It's salt!” Dean yelled, trying to splash Charlie, who was nearest, but the two dinosaurs just backed away.

“Maybe they can't swim,” Sam said, through teeth gritted against the pain of his leg.

The Indominus roared and lashed out at Charlie. The raptor flew through the air, narrowly missing Dean’s head, and tumbled into the ocean. She splashed and sputtered, coughed and flailed all four limbs, drawing Echo fearfully to the shore nearest her. Echo danced back and forth, desperate to reach her teammate but obviously fearful of the water.

Dean, who had managed to shove another round of rock salt into his weapon, was considering wading over to help, despite the flailing claws, when he saw a wave from Charlie hit Echo. Now they were all safe.

“Stand up!” Dean yelled, then turned and fired at the Indominus.

The creature screamed and wavered, but its giant bulk flickered back into existence and it charged on.

“Uh, Dean,” came Sam’s voice.

“Little busy,” Dean said, shooting the ghost again.

“No, seriously,” Sam said, and moved closer to his brother.

“It can wait!” Dean grunted, trying to load the gun and dropping a salt-round into the water. “Shit.”

“No, it can't,” Sam said, and Dean finally turned to glance for a second behind him.

 

An unmistakable fin was poking from the water and headed straight for the brothers.


	10. Chapter 10

“Awesome,” Dean muttered and turned back to fire at the Indominus.

The shot blew harmlessly wide and the specter slashed at the brothers. Dean jumped back just short of the translucent attack. Sam narrowly missed catching the full force of the blow by stumbling backward into the water. He came up gasping and Dean dragged his sodden brother out of the drink.

“Dean, you gotta-”

“Shut up or I’ll let you drown.”

A chittering sound began from the brothers’ left and they barely had time to turn their heads when Charlie shot from the water, joined by Echo, directly for the Indominus. They converged on it, leaping at it again. This time, however, as they sailed through it, the image wavered and the roar came out fuzzy and contorted.

“No, I’m serious,” Sam protested again, shaking his brother’s shoulder, trying to get through to the stubborn man. “The shark’s taking a bead on my bloody leg. If you run for it you might be able to take down the Indominus.”

“Not an option,” Dean growled, turning his back on the dino Thunderdome to blast rock-salt toward the shark. “Start thinking of something better.”

The shark barely seemed to notice the salt which barely made it to the animal through the water. It sped up as it neared the bleeding Winchester.

“Shit!”

From a standing start, Dean heaved his brother over, allowing the momentum to carry them both into the water. The fin skimmed past the younger Winchester’s boots. Sam landed with a grunt of pain that became lost as he sank beneath the water. After a moment of floundering, the two men rose unsteadily to their feet and stared around in fear of a repeated aquatic attack.

“We can’t keep this up much longer,” Sam said, his eyes on his brother.

“Where the hell is that-” Dean began, but cut himself short as he ducked under a raptor. Charlie sailed over him, all four limbs flailing, to splash to the shore several feet away.

Echo was lying, unmoving, at the base of a tree on the edge of the jungle. Turning, the Indominus gave a roar that rippled the water surrounding the Winchesters. It charged, whipping up sand as it passed, heading directly for the brothers.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered.

Before Sam could protest, the elder hunter bent double, grabbing his brother’s left arm in his right and lodging his shoulder in the taller man’s midsection. Standing straight with some effort, Dean sloshed frantically for the shore, and away from the ghost.

Easily outweighing his brother, Sam bounced resignedly along, craning his neck to watch the ghost. The Indominus flickered and roared as it glanced off the salt water, then spun about to zero in on its fleeing prey.

The water tugged at Dean’s boots as the Winchester’s combined weight forced each foot deep into the sand. He’d meant to run, but found himself slowing with each tread. Only a few feet from the water, Dean was out of breath and barely at a walking pace.

“Dean... It’s gaining,” Sam said, between bounding steps.

If the elder Winchester had breath remaining, his reply would have been profane. As it was, he barely had the strength to inhale to keep moving.

With another roar, the Indominus opened its spectral mouth, charging in for the kill. Dean heard, and tried to change direction, but tripped and sent both Winchesters sprawling. The ghost turned and raised an arm. Black goo pooled on the sand at the specter’s feet and the blow came screaming in, aiming to slice through both brothers.

At first, Dean thought the salt water clinging to the men had been enough of a deterrent, despite the ectoplasm created by intense spiritual rage. The Indominus’ claws flashed in to strike, then exploded in a splash of flame that spread through the entire apparition. In seconds, the only thing left of the ghost was an echoing scream of rage.

Panting, Dean lay back on the sand and stared up. He didn’t even have the energy for a comment.

“Owen must have found the tracker,” came Sam’s voice, after a moment.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean said, forcing himself into a sitting position to look over Sam’s condition. “How’s the leg?”

“Full of sand,” Sam replied, wincing. “We have to find Owen and get out of here.”

Chirruping announced the arrival of Charlie who examined the humans briefly before whisking off to inspect her fallen comrade.

“Saltwater reptile ghost fighters,” Dean mused as he pulled himself up off the sand. He felt as though his clothes were made of lead. “That’s definitely new.”

“Too bad we can’t bring them back with us,” Sam said. “They’re natural born hunters.”

“So are we,” Dean smiled wryly, helping his injured brother to a standing position.

They had barely limped to where Echo was just recovering consciousness when Owen and the other raptors broke through the trees.

“Is it-?” He began, looking from the damp Winchesters to the damp raptors.

“Done and dusted,” Dean said. “Thanks to you I’m guessing.”

“Yeah,” Owen said, nodding. “Finally found the damn thing. I was wrong. The flesh had rotted away so they couldn’t track the smell. I finally managed to-” he broke off as a wave of pain rippled up from his arm. He panted and leant on the nearest tree.

“You can tell us all about it later,” Dean said, glancing behind them at the sun, sinking toward the western horizon. “We need to call a ride. Now.”

Nodding, Owen turned and beckoned all six figures to follow him. The Winchesters, Dean beginning to lean on Sam as much as he himself was supporting his injured brother, followed, with Echo limping close behind. The other three plunged off into the underbrush to create a protective perimeter.

The first to stumble was Owen, slashing his hand on a broken branch as he reached out to break his fall. The wound was not severe, but he swayed and grudgingly allowed Dean to pull an arm over his shoulder.

Sam’s head nodded next, the grip on Dean’s shoulder loosened and before his brother could catch him, the taller man had slumped to the ground. Though the sun was still above the horizon, the trees cast long shadows that brought on twilight early. Dean propped Owen on a nearby tree and squinted in the half-light. Turning Sam’s face up he patted the unshaven jaw.

“Sam,” he said, trying to hide the worry gnawing at his stomach. “This ain’t a good spot for a nap.”

A heavier smack on the side of his face brought Sam back around. He blinked and tried to raise an arm to be pulled up. His grip was weak and it took both Owen and Dean to haul him to a standing position.

The three men, the two on the outside leaning most of their weight on the one in the middle, made slow progress through the trees, and the rich, jewel greens of the jungle faded to an ominous deep green, then to various shades of black and grey as the sun vanished entirely.

Dean forced himself to keep moving one leg after the other. The two bodies on him felt like dead weight and his strength began to wane.

Somehow they emerged onto the trail leading for the bunker. They stumbled past the coop and Dean began to realize how quiet it had become. No daytime jungle noises and no whisper of raptor’s patrolling nearby.

“C’mon guys...” Dean grunted, looking around nervously. “Not far now.”

When he looked back to the trail he saw a dark shape.

“There you are,” the hunter said, irritation coloring his tone. “Where have you...”

His accusation died on his lips as the group drew near what Dean had assumed was a raptor. It was about the size of Echo, who still limped behind them, bleeding from a dozen wounds, but as Dean approached, he could see the shape was wrong. His labored breath caught in his throat as he realized it was looking straight at them.

“Echo-!” he tried to shout, but the shape suddenly extended a huge fan around its neck and hissed. A jet of something sticky flew out at Dean and struck him across the face, stinging and closing one eye.

A few seconds too late, Echo gave a cough and charged, limping, at the attacking reptile. Her claws made quick work of it and she turned, tilting her head.

Dean tried to blink away the stinging substance from his eye, but that just caused another wave of pain. He clenched both eyes shut and started walking again. Opening one eye every few steps, his vision soon began to blur. Owen and Sam, both barely conscious now, weighed him down.

Suddenly all three men were face down on the path, Dean blinking his good eye, with no memory of how they’d gotten there. Turning his head, he could see Echo, hovering anxiously nearby. He tried to move, tried to rise, but every muscle in his body ached.

“E-” he tried to speak, but the image of the raptor was spinning down, into a dark whirlpool.

 

Dean slumped to the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

“And that was it,” Dean said, glancing in his rear-view mirror at the familiar face in the backseat. “I was sure all our numbers had finally come up. Turned out that Owen had this agreement with some local fisherman. If he didn’t radio in every five days, they’d come the next day and search for him.”

“Apparently his mother made him do it,” chuckled Sam, riding shotgun. “So she could bury him in consecrated ground if he were killed horribly by monsters.”

Nodding, Castiel considered his hunter friend’s words.

“And the raptor, Echo?”

“What?” Dean laughed. “You wanna know if the lizard was ok?”

Averting his gaze in what Dean might have considered embarrassment had it not been for his friend’s status as an angel, Castiel nodded.

“Yes,” he said, looking up again. “Was she unharmed? Why did the other raptors not come to your aid?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, waving a hand airily. “The whole geek squad was just fine. They actually were protecting us. Our working theory is that once the Indominus was gone, the other dinos came back around, not having to worry about being lunch.”

“So the others were clearing a path ahead for us,” Sam continued. “And they were fighting a pretty nasty battle, apparently. The one who slimed Dean was the only one who slipped through their net.”

“And Owen?”

“He’s fine. They even managed to save his arm.”

“It would seem as though you were successful,” Castiel said, his tone almost indicative of congratulations.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said.

The two men and their guardian angel rode in silence for a few moments, and Dean was beginning to wonder if Castiel had swooped off in his customary fashion, without saying goodbye, when he spoke.

“I assume you’ll be needing a fresh case.”

“Uh,” Dean said, exchanging amused glances with his brother. “Maybe in a few hours, Cas. What did you have in mind?”

“Since deciding to become a hunter,” Cas began, drawing a grin from both brothers, “I have been on the lookout for unusual activity, as I have seen you do countless times. I believe I have found us a case. It is, however, quite far to travel.”

“Us?” Dean asked, glancing in the mirror again, one eyebrow raised

“How far?” Sam inquired, turning in his seat to look at the angel.

 

The angel leaned forward and began to fill the two hunters in on the job he’d found. The hood of the Impala gleamed in the morning light as it sped away down the road.


End file.
